Here Kitty, Kitty
by SilverCat63
Summary: Sam and Dean go after a vunas witch and get in a... hairy situation. Then it's a race against time before Sam starts purring and Dean gets jealous. A slightly cracky case fic featuring body swapping and brotherly banter.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is a story I originally posted at Sinful-Desire-dot-org, so it may look familiar to some of you. Don't worry – I'm me, no one's copying. Basically, I read a story where the author would write for twenty minutes, edit for ten, and then post everything. I've been having trouble writing and decided to try something new. Now, I write for twenty minutes, edit, and post over at Sinful Desire daily. This is an edited version of what I've been doing. Hope you enjoy.

**Pronunciation:** Vunas is pronounced something like _VOO-nas_ (nas as in _nasty_) in my head.

_**X**_

**1.**

Sam crept along the wall of the apparently deserted house. Everything was quiet and dark. The witch he was hunting could be just around the corner, hidden in the looming shadows. A doorway was just ahead of him, and Sam paused, taking a deep breath and bracing himself, before he turned sharply, leading the way with his gun.

The room was empty, no sign of the witch.

Sam let out the pent up breath he'd held and lowered his weapon slightly. A tiny movement registered in the corner of his eye, and he turned, immediately alert again. A handsome silver tabby cat wandered out of the shadows and stood looking at Sam with big yellow eyes.

After a moment of tense contemplation, the cat sat down and began licking its paw. Sam smiled slightly and shook his head. The cat was a cat, no danger there.

This witch he and Dean were hunting used animals to do her dirty work. Cats and dogs had robbed banks. A boa constrictor stole a Lamborghini. Meanwhile, people had been reported acting oddly. One guy crawled everywhere on his belly for days and nearly caused a multi-car pileup before the cops got him to safety. Three days later, Jacob Smythe woke up in the psych ward of the local hospital. He, and others like him, had no memory of their odd behavior, nor could they explain themselves.

After the story pinged Sam's radar — on Facebook of all places — he and Dean began the near cross country journey to Northampton, Massachusetts. Now, a week later, Dean had figured out it was a vunas witch and Sam had tracked down her possible location: this historic house near Smith College, where most of the human incidents had taken place.

Sam turned away from the cat, intent on heading back into the hall so he could finish his half of the search and meet up with Dean again. He never saw the middle-aged woman step out of the shadows behind the cat. He did hear her soft whisper though. Sam was only halfway turned when his knees buckled suddenly and he passed out.

**2****.**

Dean had a bad feeling, like _really_ bad. He'd finished searching his half of the house, and there was no sign of Sam. He'd have called if he found something or met up with Dean if the house was clear. Something was wrong, Dean could feel it.

The hall he was walking down was empty and dark. He'd already finished most of the second floor, and there were only two rooms left before he reached the attic. Dean hated attics; They always had something creepy. Distracted by his thoughts and his search, Dean never saw the cat he tripped over.

The damn thing twined around his ankles and sent him crashing to the ground. Dean cursed loudly, knowing any chance of secrecy was blown, and propped himself up on his elbows. The cat immediately walked up his chest and sat down. It stared really hard at him, like it was willing its thoughts across the empty space between them. Dean cursed again and shoved it off.

The cat let out a meow of protest, but Dean ignored it as he picked himself up. He frowned for a moment as he considered his options. If Sam was nearby, he would have heard the noise Dean made when he fell and come to investigate. The witch also would have heard and would be long gone. Snorting, Dean glared at the cat and cautiously approached the next door.

The cat seemed determined to trip him again. Dean nudged it aside roughly with his foot.

"Look, cat," he growled, "I really don't have time for this. So would you please move?"

He had a moment of disbelief that he was talking to a freakin' cat, but he cleared the doorway at that moment, and the tableau in front of him was much more interesting.

Sam was in the room along with an older woman with crazy hair. Dean blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, when he realized his brother was curled up in the woman — witches' lap. He totally didn't fit. Only his head and shoulders were actually on her lap, his arms were extended across her knees, and the rest of Sam was sprawled across the floor.

"Sam!" Dean barked, gun up, safety off, ready to blow the bitch to hell right the fuck now. At his feet, the cat meowed loudly and tried to climb his leg. "Sonuvabitch!"

The woman laughed. "Language."

Dean cursed again, shaking the cat off so he could aim his gun. Sam was too close to the witch for Dean to have a clear shot. "I'll say whatever the hell I want to."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," she replied smugly, stroking over Sam's hair and lingering behind his ear. Sam seemed to be purring — or trying to — and rubbed his cheek against her hand. Dean would've laughed if he wasn't so scared.

"OK. How 'bout we trade? I'll keep it G rated if you give me back my brother."

The witch laughed again, shifting enough to make Sam glare up at her. Dean gritted his teeth and eased the death-grip he had on his gun. "I can't give you something you already have."

The cat chose that moment to launch itself up the length of Dean's body, landing on his shoulder and perching there. Its weight threw off Dean's aim, and he stumbled. The cat hissed and spat. Dean got a face full of bottlebrush tail when he turned his head.

"Now, I'm afraid I have to go. It's time for din-din," the witch confided. Sam's head shot up at the word "din-din," and the witch spent a moment cooing in ridiculously high baby-talk at him. When she turned back to Dean, her eyes were sharp and cold. "I wouldn't follow me. My babies and I don't like to be disturbed."

Dean cursed and tried to get a clear shot. The cat spat and dug its claws into Dean's shoulder. And the witch disappeared. Sam vanished along with her.

**3.**

Dean lurched toward the witch in a fruitless attempt to stop her. He was forced to stop by the twenty razor sharp claws digging in to him.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean spat, trying to dislodge his passenger without doing more damage to his already torn skin. "Get off me, asshole."

By the time Dean got free, the witch could already be in California, his shirt was spotted with holes and blood, and the cat had calmed down a bit. The little monster was now curled up quite happily on Dean's boots. Only the steady _thump thump_ of tail on leather let Dean know it was alive.

Dean took a deep, shaky breath as he tucked his gun into the back of his waistband. Sam was gone, in the clutches of some psychotic bitch, who would do God knew what to him. Dean was on his own until he could find Sam. He really didn't like the sound of that alone part. Dean didn't do alone well.

"Well, at least I have you, tiger," he muttered unhappily as he stared down at his feline companion. Again, he wondered why he was talking to the animal. It's not like it understood what he was saying.

With a heavy sigh, Dean jerked his foot free and slumped down the stairs. Once outside the house, he looked back up at the dark, blank windows. His teeth ground together as he silently made Sam and the witch a promise. He would get Sam back, he would stop the bitch, and he would happily salt and burn her bones — multiple times.

Dean was just climbing into the Impala, his butt almost touching the seat, when a loud thump sounded and he sensed a warm body behind and beneath him. Glancing down quickly, he saw the cat had jumped into the car and was sitting on the seat. Looking at him.

Dean wobbled, unbalanced with only one foot on solid ground and one foot in the car. He gripped the roof desperately to keep himself upright. Then he glared down at the cat.

"I can't take you with me," he said bluntly. "I ride alone, and I don't do pets."

The cat gave him a look that said, very definitely, that Dean was an idiot and he should shut up now. When Dean was opening his mouth to retort, the cat calmly stood up and walked to the passenger seat. It sat down again and turned disapproving yellow eyes on Dean.

Dean really wanted to yell at the cat, tell it to scram, but something stopped him. He crossed his arms and stared suspiciously at his unwelcome passenger. This cat was not normal, he could tell. There was just something . . . un-cat like about it. In Dean's mind, that could mean two things: one, that it was some kind of spy sent by the witch to keep tabs on Dean; or two, the cat was a victim of one of the witch's spells. Dean really hoped it was door number two. He had to find Sam. He had to save his brother.

Sighing and grumbling under his breath, Dean got in the car — this time without a furry seat cushion. He put the key in the ignition and looked at the cat. "OK, fuzzball. Here's the deal. You can come with me, but you don't shed, and you don't put holes in the seats. All right?"

The cat blinked and lowered its head in a solemn almost-nod. Dean treated the animal to the full force of his suspicious glare for a long moment before he finally started the car up and pulled away from the curb.

The cat curled up on the seat, closed its eyes, and tucked its paws under its chest. It was the poster child for feline contentment. Dean snorted and drove carefully down the deserted streets. He hated cats.

_**X**_

**Format Note:** The numbers between sections show which day I wrote this, so 1 means the first day's chapter, 2 is the second day's, and so on. I've smooshed the original updates into larger chapters to make reading and posting easier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** When the cat talks, I'm not paying any attention to capitalization, puncuation, or anything else. The informality suits the story, and I like it.

_**4.**_

Dean made it back to his motel in good time. The streets were empty at this late at night. The bars had closed, and everyone had already gone home. He pulled the Impala into a spot a few spaces down from his and Sam's room. Unthinking, he turned his baby off, got out, and shut the door behind him.

A muffled yowl and the screech of claws and paws made him whirl around.

His passenger was pressed against the glass, leaving nose prints in cat snot. Affronted on his car's behalf, Dean glared at the cat again. It glared back. For a moment, Dean was reminded of the angry shouting matches he and Sam had that always ended with pissed glares.

Then Dean shook himself and opened the door again. The cat's tail twitched as it leapt down. It immediately landed in a small puddle and jumped back, paws shaking off the dirty water. Angry twitches turned to wild thrashing as the cat sauntered toward the dry, covered walkway that ran in front of the rooms.

Dean snorted with muffled laughter as he closed the door again and locked up. "Serves you right," he muttered quietly.

The cat turned disapproving eyes on him. Dean raised an eyebrow at it then followed. He realized that he was dealing with an obviously male cat, and Dean couldn't help but be glad that he wasn't calling him _it_ anymore. The cat's glare also reminded him of Sam's bitch face. The resemblance was uncanny.

When the cat sat directly in front of the door to Dean's motel room, he stopped dead in his tracks, hand stuffed in his pocket as he dug out the room key. Dean's free hand slid toward his Colt, hidden beneath his jacket in the back of his waistband. He knew the cat was supernatural, but Dean wasn't sure who's side he was on. If the witch knew where they were staying, then he and Sammy hadn't stood a chance against her. He might have to call in backup on this one.

Slowly, Dean pulled out his key and opened the door. The cat happily trotted inside the room, even stepping daintily over the salt line without disturbing a single grain. Dean went in after it, casting a last wary look over his shoulder.

When he turned around, the cat was curled up on Sam's bed and looking at him expectantly. Dean kept his back to the wall as he edged to one of the sticky chairs in the kitchenette. He pulled his gun out and set it clearly on the table in front of him before he sat down, letting his legs sprawl casually even though he was ready to spring at a moment's notice.

"Now, you 'n' me are gonna have a little chat, puss," he said.

The cat lowered his head again in what could only be a nod. The human gesture supported Dean's idea that he was dealing with one of the witch's victims and not her spy. According the research Sam had done, the vunas witch was merely performing a body swap spell that transferred a human's intelligence into an animal's body and vice versa.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to tell himself that he was talking to a human and not a cat. "So, my name's Dean, and I'm a hunter. My brother is also a hunter. We're here to stop the witch that did this to you."

The cat nodded again, and his tail twitched some more in a constant flutter of movement over his toes.

"Has she made you do anything yet? Do you know where she is?" Dean asked, really hoping that he wasn't pouring his guts out to the witch's familiar.

A cat shaking its head looked pretty funny, but Dean didn't feel like laughing. If the cat couldn't help him, then he was back to square one. This cat was his only connection to the witch, and he couldn't talk. There had to be some way...

"I wish you could talk to me," Dean mused, looking around the room. Pen and paper was out — no thumbs. Could he teach the cat Morse code? Naw, that'd take too long. His dilemma was solved when the cat jumped down from the bed and went over to Sam's backpack. He pawed at the bag until Dean stood up to stop him, sure the animal's sharp claws would shred the fabric. Then Dean remembered the Ouija board.

_**5.**_

"That'll work," Dean grunted as he opened Sam's backpack. He didn't know why his little brother had held on to the thing in the first place, but it would be useful again. Well, it would be if Dean could find it.

Sam's pack was full of battered notebooks, maps, dog eared books, and assorted junk. Dean had to dig all the way to the bottom to find the Ouija board, and he had help in his digging. The cat kept putting his nose in the bag, getting in Dean's way and looking offended when a pile of junk nearly landed on him.

After firmly telling the cat that he was fine and "Could you please go wait on the bed?", Dean went back to searching for the planchette. He gave up after five minutes. Who'd have known that Sam was such a pack rat? There were coupons in there from five states back!

"OK," Dean said as he sat on the bed in front of the cat, "You know how one of these things works, right?"

The cat nodded again, but his seriousness was ruined when he rear end twitched and his back legs shifted his weight from side to side. Dean had watched enough alley cats hunting to know that he was liable to be pounced on if he didn't put the damn board down.

"All right. Have at it, tiger." He set the board down in front of the cat and settled in to watch.

The cat was on the board immediately, smelling it all over and rubbing his face on the corners. Then he seemed to get a hold of himself and sat back. He spent a long minute looking over the crazy copperplate writing. Dean had a moment's fear that the cat wouldn't be able to read, but then he moved, pawing at a letter.

_H_ . . . _I._

"Cute," Dean grunted. "You maybe wanna tell me something interesting, like who you are?"

The cat shot him a look that promised claws in sensitive places then went back to the board. _S_ . . . _A_ . . . _M_.

"Sammy?" Dean breathed. "That you?"

"_YES"_

"Dammit, what happened?" Dean winced and corrected himself. "How'd she get the drop on you man?"

It took Sam a long time to spell out, _"don't_ _know_ _didn't_ _see_ _her_._"_

"What about your ah, human body? What's the deal with that?"

"_NO idea just woke up this way."_

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Can you get back on your own somehow?"

"_NO"_

"Shit," Dean cursed. "What do we do then?"

"_research"_

"That's your job, dude. I can't even read your writing," Dean protested.

"_tough"_

"I can take you to the vet, Sammy. I'm sure they'll be happy to neuter you." Dean grinned smugly as Sam's tail thrashed. Damn, Sam had a tail. How messed up was that?

"_ha ha"_

"Sorry, dude, but it's the truth." Dean sighed and looked every where but at his cat shaped brother. "Why don't we start in the morning? I'm beat."

"_YES_"

_**6.**_

They left the Ouija board where it was on the bed. Dean went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He didn't change in the semi-privacy of the other room because he and Sam had been changing in front of each other for their entire lives. Dean wasn't gonna get shy now, even if Sam's flat, feline gaze did make him feel a little weird when he stripped to his boxers and climbed into bed.

Dean checked the knife under his pillow then turned on his side so he could watch his brother. Sam seemed content to curl up near the pillows at the head of his bed. His eyes were closed, his paws were tucked neatly under his chest, and his tail had finally stopped twitching. Even as Dean registered the stillness, a quiet rumble reached his ears.

"Dude, are you _purring_?"

A single golden eye cracked open. Dean snorted and turned away. He fell asleep moments later with Sam's purring in his ears.

When Dean woke up, he immediately reached for his knife. Something was warm and alive on his chest, and it was making a weird noise. As he tensed, ready for a fight, Dean opened his eyes and started down at himself.

Two gold-green eyes with vertical pupils started back at him, unblinking and demanding. Eight sharp claws dug into his chest when he tried to move Sam off him.

"C'mon, Sam!" Dean groaned. "Lemme sleep."

The claws dug deeper, and Sam let out a soft meow.

"Aren't cats supposed to sleep all the time?" He closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep. Something cold brushed his nose, and his eyes immediately popped open. "What the hell, man!"

Sam's smirk turned out better on his cat face than it usually did on his human face. Dean shoved him away, heedless of his claws, and sat up.

"All right, I'm up. What do you want?"

His brother, the brat cat, immediately leapt across to the other bed and started pawing at the Ouija board. Dean dragged himself over and sat beside him.

"_hungry bathroom"_

Dean fought down a slight blush as he asked, "You just wanna go outside?"

Sam raced to the door in a second and started prancing.

"Jeez, Sammy. Been years since you did that dance," Dean teased as he shuffled to the door and opened it. Sam was out like a shot, disappearing into the weeds that marked the property line between the motel and whatever the empty lot beside it was supposed to be.

A few minutes later, he was back and dancing around Dean's feet again. Big, beseeching eyes looked up at him from an eager face. Dean could only marvel that Sam could make puppy eyes when he was a cat. There had to be some rule against that.

"I still need to feed you, huh?" Dean asked. Sam's dancing got worse. "OK, guess I can't get your usual. So what do I do?"

Sam was no help; he just kept pawing out "_hungry_" and tripping Dean up as he showered and dressed. A quick stop at a diner later, Dean brought back one adult pancake breakfast and one kids meal with extra bacon and sausage.

Sam tore into the greasy, half-cooked meat like he was starving. Half of it was wolfed down before Dean finished a single pancake. Then Sam sat licking his chops and paws then running them over himself.

Dean watched the process with fascination as he ate. Sam finally stopped washing and curled up on the table in front of Dean. It looked like he was sleeping, and Dean didn't want to disturb him. So he sat back and booted Sam's lap top. It was time to decipher Sammy scribble.


	3. Chapter 3

_**7.**_

A couple of hours later, Sam woke up and had to go outside again. He sat down beside the lap top when he came back and gave Dean a look that clearly said he wanted a progress report.

"All right," Dean began, pulling up Sam's notes and a few relevant websites. "So we know we're dealing with a vunas witch. Apparently, she's just doing some body swapping and not really messing too much with the animals themselves."

Sam nodded then yawned, stretching his jaws wide enough to show all his pointy white teeth and his curled sandpaper tongue.

"Am I boring you?" Dean asked, slightly hurt. Sam never let him do the research because he was such a control freak and thought he could do better, but Dean wasn't that bad. "Anyway, I'm guessing that she's holding the human bodies as ransom. Y'know, like go rob a bank for me or I won't give you your body back."

When Dean looked at Sam for confirmation, he realized that his brother had curled up and apparently gone to sleep again.

"Great, now what do I do?" he muttered. "I knew cats slept all the time."

With a sigh, he turned back to the computer and tried to learn something new. Sam's notes covered the basics, but they needed more if they were going to out smart the bitch. Sam slowly started to unfurl next to the laptop until he was half-sprawled over Dean's hands and the keyboard, making it impossible for Dean to type or search. Dean tried nudging him out of the way, but Sam simply sprawled further and opened one glassy eye to glare at him.

Finally, he just gave up and let Sam have the laptop. The cat seemed quite happy to be left alone, and Dean was glad he wasn't fighting claw filled paws anymore. He had quite enough Sam-inflicted wounds from last night. Seeing nothing else to do, Dean turned the television on low and started thinking.

Sam's behavior puzzled him. Sometimes, it was like Sam was in control and totally human, but then he would start acting like a cat. Dean had to wonder if it was a side effect of the spell or if the more catlike aspects were because of Sam's new body. He'd have to ask Sam once he woke up. Dean glanced toward the table and saw Sam watching him.

"You finished napping now, lazy bones?"

Sam blinked slowly then he stretched, turning his body into a furry arc. After a long, shuddering minute, he stood and stretched some more. Dean was about to say something when Sam hopped down from the table and sauntered towards him. Dean blinked, and Sam was beside him, stepping delicately onto his lap.

"Oh hell no, dude," Dean protested, trying to fend him off. "That is just not cool."

Sam wouldn't be dissuaded and managed to worm his way around Dean's hands. Only the sharp claws so close to sensitive areas stopped Dean from shoving Sam's sprawling body off his legs.

"You always did like to cuddle," he muttered, staring balefully at Sam.

Sam's eyes closed and he purred in contentment. Dean wouldn't admit it, never in a million years, but it was kind of nice to be sitting here with Sam, watching trashy daytime television. He even relaxed enough to forget himself and started idly stroking Sam.

At first, Sam fidgeted, twitching his tail and flexing his paws, but then Dean started scratching behind his ear. Sam's purring ratcheted up a few decibels, and all twitching stopped in favor of a boneless sprawl that took up almost all of Dean's lap. Dean wanted to tease him about being easy, but he just didn't have it in him. Instead, he scratched harder and turned back to the television.

_**8.**_

Hours later, sometime in the late afternoon, if the golden hue to the sunlight was any indication, Dean woke up. At first, he couldn't pin point why exactly he woke up. He was still on the bed, slouched down uncomfortably against the padded headboard, but it wasn't the pins and needles in his legs or the crick in his neck that disturbed him. The television was rambling quietly in the background. Sam was scratching at the door, and Dean's lap was cold.

Sam was meowing desperately by the time Dean realized the absence of his brother's warm, furry body was what had woken him.

"All right, all right." Dean hauled himself upright, wincing as joints protested his odd position. "Man, the things I do for you. You weren't even this bad when you were a baby."

Sam just glared and danced, stretching up to paw at the door handle. Dean obligingly worked the tricky mechanism, grasping and turning the knob, and let Sam out. Instead of dashing for the weeds and his bathroom, Sam bounded over the Impala and leaped up onto the hood. He sat with his tail curled tightly over his toes, apparently oblivious to the hot, black metal.

Dean stared for a moment then chuckled. "I take it you're hungry?"

Sam meowed his assent.

"Will a hamburger work?"

Dean ended up going through an Arby's drive through, and got Sam a roast beef sandwich with extra cheddar. Sam pawed insistently at the bag, but Dean refused to let him eat in his baby. Sam was near desperate when they reached the motel again. Dean chuckled as Sam butted his hands out of the way.

With the bun flipped open and all the gooey insides exposed, Sam went to with a will. Dean watched him eat again and couldn't help but tease Sam.

"You always say I'm a pig. Take a look in the mirror, Sammy," Dean said through a mouthful of roast beef. Sam slowed down a bit after that, but he still finished before Dean.

Sam went through the same bathing ritual he had after breakfast, and Dean watched him again. He couldn't resist asking, "Hey Sam, do you think you could, y'know - lick yourself?"

The paw Sam had just lifted stopped, and he froze, tongue still out. Dean chuckled a little. Then Sam fell limply to the table and bent himself in half. His tongue poked out again, but it wasn't funny.

"Dude," Dean exclaimed, looking quickly away. "You didn't have to show me! That is just way too much info, man."

If Sam hadn't been a cat, he would have chuckled. As it was, the corners of his mouth turned up, and he looked extremely smug when he sat up again. Dean had learned his lesson — for awhile at least — and went right to business.

"So I was thinking, we're right by Smith College. Almost all of the victims have been living or staying in the general vicinity of the college. What do you wanna bet that the witch is staying somewhere around there, too?"

Sam nodded then leaped wildly at the bed. He caught the edge of the cheap floral comforter with his claws and scrambled his way up. Dean followed him over, still wiping his hands on a napkin, and watched Sam paw out his message.

"_YES i think so smith is womens college that why you want to go"_

Dean smirked and wet his lips quickly. "Well, it's also a well respected college. Bet they have some great uh, libraries."

Sam snorted and shook his head, ears flicking.

"What? I can keep my mind on the research," Dean protested.

"_i want to come with"_

"Aw, Sam!" Dean rolled his eyes. Sam purred contentedly and rubbed himself against Dean's knee.


	4. Chapter 4

_**9.**_

"Why'd I let you talk me into this," Dean hissed at the squirming bag on his back. Sam was a warm weight that shifted occasionally against Dean's shoulders. He'd ordered Dean to dump everything out of his junked up backpack then jumped in and curled up. Of course, Dean had protested for half an hour. Then he realized he was arguing with his brother and a cat; Dean was so not gonna win that fight.

So that's how he ended up wandering around Smith College's campus, waiting for a clue to just _jump_ into his lap. That was another thing that wasn't gonna happen 'cause cases were never that easy. But at least Dean had something to look at while he waited for the impossible. Sammy had been right; Smith College was a women's college, which meant girls as far as the eye could see.

So Dean strolled and chatted, looked and flat out leered. Sam grew increasingly restless in his hiding spot. He wanted to do something. Dean's every step jolted him, making it impossible to sleep, even when the cat wanted to.

Sam found it much easier to sleep since he'd switched bodies. Nightmares weren't a problem so much, or at least, he didn't wake up sweating and terrified. But he was sleeping a lot, and that in itself was worrying. Deciding to take his mind off it, Sam squirmed until he could just peek out of the backpack.

He was facing backwards but he could still tell Dean was chatting someone up. The flirtatious angle of Dean's hips was obvious, and Sam could hear the charm being laid on thick.

That brought up another worry. Sometimes when Dean was talking, it was just noise, sometimes soothing, sometimes angry like before. It was just noise that didn't make a bit of sense.

With an agile twist, Sam popped out of the sack and perched on Dean's shoulder, holding himself in place with his claws. Dean's voice got angry, and he whirled around, trying to dislodge Sam. The cat hung grimly on.

Soft, high voices cooed, and he looked up to see two different people. They smelled female and funny, not like familiar male Dean. Sam blinked and mentally shook himself. He really shouldn't think like that. It was bad to loose himself.

Sam blinked again, twitched an ear, and looked solemnly at the newcomers. They cooed some more, saying things like "Aww" and "Hi, handsome." Sam could scent a subtle shift in Dean's smell, something harsher, sharper, but he ignored it when a small hand reached out and scratched his face.

"Oh, look at you, sweetheart," the girl with her hands all over him said.

Sam automatically bristled at the words, and Dean choked back a laugh right beside him. He really wanted to scratch her, but her hands felt good where they rubbed his whiskers, and he really didn't have a spare paw to swipe at her with.

Then the small hands moved back and grasped Sam around his middle. There was a heart pounding moment of vertigo as Sam was picked up for the first time in his new shape. His back bent uncomfortably, and he realized he was no longer in control of his new body.

He landed with all claws out in the girl's arms. She winced but held on bravely. Sam struggled, but the petting resumed and Dean shot him a look that clearly said "Play along!" So he settled back and told himself, very firmly, that he would not purr.

"I love cats," his captor was saying. "I grew up with a whole house full of them at my aunts."

"Really?' Dean drawled, putting on his interested face. This chick was cute, and she'd gotten Sam off him, but he wasn't really that interested.

"Yep." The girl nodded and pet some more. "My aunt's kind of crazy about cats — well, animals in general, really. She sort of runs an unofficial sanctuary."

The other girl snorted and muttered, "She's just a crazy old lady who's lonely."

The brothers' ears perked up at that, Sam's literally. "Your aunt likes animals. She keep a lot of 'em around," Dean asked casually, reaching out to tug Sam's ear in warning and _not_ to get his hands closer to those tantalizing C-cups.

"Oh, yeah. She's had just about everything over the years," The girl said dismissively. "She doesn't like snakes or lizards that much, but she'll keep them until she finds a home for them. Right now she just has four cats and a dog, but she's also feeding some local wildlife, too."

"Y'know," Dean began, in what Sam called his 'leading question voice,' "I have a brother almost like that. You might say he's almost like an animal himself."

Sam shot Dean a very clear death glare and settled deeper into the girl's arms to plan his revenge.

"Sometimes, I swear it's almost like he can talk to the animals. Like, the dog whisperer or something."

_**10.**_

The girl not holding Sam laughed, a mean note to her voice. "Oh, she talks to her 'babies' all right. Maybe she thinks they can talk back or something."

"Hey!" Sam's girl spat. "I told you to leave her alone."

"Whatever. I have to get to class. Have fun, Sue," the mean girl called over her shoulder.

Everything about the next silent minute screamed _awkward_, and Sam was treated to the unusual pleasure of having a face buried in his fur. After a moment of nuzzling, the girl - Sue - got herself back together. Sam twitched irritably to resettle his ruffled fur.

"Sorry. Noel isn't exactly a fan of my aunt's. She doesn't even really like animals either," Sue apologized.

"Yeah," Dean drawled and reached down to pet Sam, who looked like he was going to start fussing again. "So uh, could I maybe meet your aunt? I travel a lot, and I know Sam here gets kinda lonely while I'm gone. Maybe I could get him a little friend to play with."

Sue brightened immediately. "Sure, that'd be great! You'd like a brother or a sister, wouldn't you, Sam?" She turned Sam around in her arms so she could look at his face.

Dean could tell his brother was pissed, and he even heard Sam's voice in his head saying, "I have a brother, but not for long. I'm going to murder you, Dean." He held back a snicker as he pet Sam some more, casually brushing against Sue's hand.

"OK, so why don't you give me your number, and I'll give you a call later today? You doing anything tonight?"

Sue blushed and fumbled for her phone. "Sure, hang on."

Numbers and schedules were duly exchanged, and soon Sam was shoved unceremoniously back into the backpack. Dean wanted to stuff him all the way in again, but Sam struggled too much. Eventually, Sue caught on and skillfully trapped his paws in the bag then cinched the opening down around his neck.

He felt ridiculous, and Dean knew it, judging from his sparkling eyes. Sam was gonna have to do something to that jerk. This was really not fair.

Dean bought Sam a cup of fresh milk from the diner they stopped at for dinner as a peace offering, but he wisely waited to release his brother until they were safely back in the motel room. Dinner was eaten in silence except for Sam's grudging purrs into his cup of milk.

"So," Dean began, "we go with Sue to meet her aunt. The witch won't do anything while she's there, and then we can go back later and gank her."

Sam pawed idly at the Ouija board in between ritualistic bathing licks. _"you think we found her"_

"Well, yeah. Why not? How many reclusive, animal loving old women can there be around the campus?"

"_she wasn't old"_

"But she had grey hair," Dean protested. "She was old."

"_didn't smell old."_

Dean's frown warred between skeptical and troubled. "Something you wanna tell me, Sammy?"

"_NO cat nose"_

"Uh huh," Dean grunted doubtfully. He mulled the new bit of information over carefully then tried again. "Listen man, you've been acting weird since this all happened. I mean, I can get the purring and the tail twitching, but the cuddling? That's not you, Sam."

Sam's flat look could only be described as unimpressed, but Dean forged ahead, full steam.

"I think that witch did more than just switch your body on you. What if there's a side effect to the spell or something? Like, maybe it has a time limit or a point of no return?" Dean asked worriedly.

"_stop worrying"_ Sam ordered with quick paw flicks. _"be ok need to get normal"_

Dean snorted and looked away. "Fine. Have it your way, dude. But I'm gonna find her as soon as possible and get you back."

"_we going 2night"_

"Naw, Sue has some evening classes, and she needs to call her aunt," Dean replied. "We'll just stay in tonight and rest up."

Sam moved his shoulders in a fair shrug and continued washing.

_**11.**_

They spent the night in their motel room again, watching whatever was on the pitiful cable package. Dean usually would have gone to a bar, hustled some pool and maybe picked up some company, but he didn't feel like it. There was so much work involved in finding and fooling a mark, and the whole circling dance of "Do you wanna hook up?" also took some doing. It was much easy to sprawl on the bed with Sam curled up on his belly.

About nine o'clock, Sam had to go outside again. Dean stood at the door, waiting for him. He tried to remember the last time they had spent a night like this, no grave digging, not driving to the next hunt, no argument, and no demon. It was a shock to realize that he couldn't even remember.

The shock lingered as Sam came back and hopped expectantly on the bed. Dean grumbled good-naturedly as he resumed his place. "Man Sammy, if I didn't know better, I'd say she put you in a girl cat's body."

Sam's eyes closed in what Dean was learning to read as _"Cute, Dean. Real cute."_

"Since when do you like to cuddle? I thought you outgrew all that when you turned four," Dean said, eyes fogging as he remembered four year old Sammy declaring that he was a big boy and Dean didn't need to tuck him in anymore.

The trip down memory lane was ended when Sam walked the length of Dean's body and sat heavily on Dean's chest, blocking his view of the basketball game they were watching.

"Ow!" Dean exclaimed, trying to move him. "God, you have sharp paws, man. Just like you elbows. Jeeze!"

Sam snorted — Dean figured that was a laugh — then got an intent look on his face. Dean tensed too, thinking his brother had heard something with his new hearing. Then Sam's front paws began to shift in an alternating rhythm. A purr started low in his chest and grew louder until it practically drowned out the excited commentary from the TV.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean bent his neck at an awkward angle to see what Sam was doing. Sharp claws snagged in his t-shirt and dug through cloth to skin. "What're you doing?"

Sam's eyes closed in bliss, and he didn't hear Dean. This was right. He was comfortable-safe-warm-happy. Every muscle and bone in his body felt loose and relaxed, letting the purr well out of him. Good. So good. Warm. Safe.

"SAM!" The loud noise right in front of him made his eyes pop open to glare at the source. Wide green eyes looked back at him from mere inches away. His purr faltered and stopped as Sam stared. Someone important. Who?

Dean.

His fur bristled as he realized he was staring into Dean's scared eyes. What was wrong? There was no danger around. Dean shouldn't be worried, he should be happy. Just like Sam was happy. Well, not so happy because his mouth was really dry.

He tried to work up some moisture and realized there was something in his mouth, held between his teeth. Sam released it then blinked in shock as his fur bristled further in fear. He'd been holding a piece of Dean's shirt in his mouth. What was going on? Why?

He looked back up into Dean's scared eyes. Dean had gotten control of himself enough to hide behind a mask of anger and curiosity.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, dude," he rumbled ominously.

_**12.**_

It was very odd, being able to look down your chest and lock eyes with your brother. Who just _happened_ to be a cat. Dean thought this might be the weirdest moment of his life, and he'd seen some doozies. But this was Sam, and that made it much worse.

Dean thought he'd locked down on the fear that had fluttered through him when Sam first started doing . . . _that_, but Sam was clearly freaking out now. His golden eyes were wide, mostly pupil-black. The fur along the ridge of his spine was raised, and his tail was just starting to bush out.

"Sammy," Dean began, blinked, and swore. Sam took off at the sound of his name, digging all claws in for traction, and he darted away. "Shit! Sam!"

Dean swore and rubbed his new injuries, looking around for Sam. The motel room was only so big, and Sam had to be around somewhere. He ruled out the bathroom - the door was closed. There were no hiding places in the tiny kitchenette. So that left the beds, TV, and ratty couch.

Dust bunnies were the only ones home behind the TV, and a mouse could barely fit under the couch. The beds it was then. Dean eyed the grimy carpet with pursed lips. That was so nasty, he didn't wanna think about touching it with more than his boots. With a sigh, he bent down and looked under Sam's bed.

Nothing.

He turned around and checked his bed, where they'd been sitting. Sam was crouched up near the wall, huddled into a ball of fur and big eyes. For such a large cat, he'd managed to make himself very small. Sam looked like he just wanted to disappear.

"Hey," Dean called softly, hoping not to startle him. He'd probably get Sam's claws in his face this time. "What was that?"

Sam turned frightened, glassy eyes on him that glinted eerily in the dark. Dean started back. There was nothing of Sam in those glassy eyes, just one hundred percent scared cat. Dean felt the panic well up again but forced it back.

"Come on, man. Come out and talk to me," Dean coaxed. He gentled his voice and tried to sound non-threatening. "I think there's still some milk left from dinner — din-din. Want some?"

Sam's ears barely twitched at din-din, and Dean could only hope that Sam wouldn't remember him using such a ridiculous word.

"Please come out? Pretty please?" Dean pleaded. Sam didn't move, just looked at him. Dean settled down on the floor with a sigh, sparing barely a wince for the filth he was probably lying in, and began a constant litany of pleas and promises.

"Fergus! Fergus, come down." She tilted her head back to glare up at her baby boy. He'd climbed all the way to the top of the tree, where the branches were barely strong enough to hold his weight. How he'd managed it without claws, she'd never know.

He gave her a flat stare that was so familiar. His new body was almost as cat-like as his old body was. Only the eyes were different, along with his lack of fur and size.

"You come down right now, you naughty boy, or you shan't have tuna for din-din," she called threateningly. Fergus blinked and shifted. Tuna would get him down any day. "I'm waiting, young man."

The stale mate continued a moment longer as Fergus dared her to come up and get him. Finally, after he realized she wouldn't play today, Fergus began picking his way down the tree. The boy's clothes, already ripped and stained from two days of wear, were abused further by grasping twigs. She sighed as she realized she'd have to bathe him soon.

Cats were so much easier. She really didn't know why she bothered with humans, or their bodies. Then Fergus settled at her feet, and she was too busy admiring his beautiful hazel eyes. Well, human eyes weren't all that bad, she decided.

"In you go, Fergus." She led the way up the porch and held the door for him. "And don't think that you'll be getting tuna just because you deigned to join the rest of us mortals on earth. It's canned food again tonight."

Fergus lowered his head, and she could imagine how his ears would flatten against his skull if they could and the constant _swish-thump_ of his tail. A cat's company really was much more pleasant.


	5. Chapter 5

_**13.**_

Dean woke up and stretched where he lay. He'd stayed on the floor, trying to coax Sam out, for hours, only giving up when he nodded off. His splayed limbs encountered a warm weight, and Dean looked over. Sam looked back at him.

"Hey," Dean croaked, his voice morning hoarse, "you're back."

Sam butted his head against Dean's hand as he brought it up to pet Sam.

"Yeah, missed you too." Dean chuckled and scrubbed harder. His hand moved faster, and Sam's purring rumbled accordingly. "So you feel all right then?"

He nodded, edging his brother's fingers to the one spot behind his ear Sam couldn't reach himself.

"Good. You know what happened?" More nodding, purring, and scrubbing. Dean waited until he realized an answer would not be forthcoming. Sam's eyes popped open and the purr stopped abruptly when Dean took his hand away. "Uh-uh, talk first. Petting later."

Sam sighed but stood reluctantly. Dean followed him and envied the way Sam could seemingly stretch every part of his borrowed body with just a few movements. His own shoulders popped and creaked in protest as he rotated and stretched them. Why did Sam always get lucky, the little snot, Dean wondered.

Sam beat Dean to the table and rapidly picked out his message. _"go to animal lore in favorites"_

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered as he reached blearily for the laptop. Sam's tail twitched constantly as they waited for the machine to wake up too. Finally, Dean was able to get an internet page open and browse through Sam's bookmarks for their current case. A site called caught his attention, and he clicked on it.

Pictures appeared immediately, depicting Egyptian cats, Anansi the spider, and other ancient records of animals. Sam scooted around beside Dean, so he could see to. A quick grey paw directed Dean to a link near the bottom called Animal Magic. They perused the scanty information quickly then Dean sat back, his brow furrowed in thought.

"So you're saying that last night was a side effect of the spell? Because you're in a cat's body, you're going to act like a cat," Dean asked slowly. Sam nodded in confirmation, and Dean's frown immediately deepened. "Do you think it's gonna get worse, Sam?"

"_definitely"_

Dean nodded as his stomach churned. "Is there some kind of time limit? Maybe the spell with only last so long, or we can reverse it?"

"_don't know just started have time maybe but not long a week is pushing it"_

"Can you fight it somehow, Sam? Buy us some time to figure it all out?" Dean asked worriedly. His brain was racing now, trying to find a solution to Sam's problem. "Is there anything I can do?"

"_don't know keep talking to me helps"_

"OK, I can do that."

Sam and Dean both jumped, heads swiveling simultaneously to the chirping cellphone on the nightstand. The brothers raced over and fought to look at the caller ID first. Sam's claws made Dean back off for a moment, but Dean's human size and strength won in the end.

"It's Sue!" Dean said happily, plunking himself down on his bed and flipping the phone open. "Hello?"

"_Hi, Dean?"_ The college girl's voice was entirely too cheery for eight o' clock in the morning. Even Sam flinched at the tinny sound of her voice coming through the speaker, his more sensitive ears picking everything out easily.

"Speaking. How's it going, Sue?" Dean cocked his head and the phone, allowing Sam to listen in as always.

"_Great. I hope it's not too early to be calling," _shegushed,_ "but I just got off the phone with my aunt. And she says you're welcome to swing by. She said I should bring you over for lunch."_

"Really?" Dean's eyebrows rose as he shared a look with Sam. "Sounds great. Does she mind if I bring Sammy along?"

"_Oh sure! No problem. It's probably a good idea to bring him, just to make sure he gets along with his new sibling," _Suereplied_. "Anyway, lunch is at 12:30. I have a class until eleven, so why don't I meet you outside of the Student Center on campus at 11:30?"_

Sam nodded eagerly when Dean glanced at him. "All right, sounds good. Sam 'n' I will be there."

"_Great!_ _I don't have a car, so we'll have to take yours._ _Freshman and all."_ The disgust was obvious in Sue's voice, and Sam would have sniggered if he could because he'd thought the same, once upon a time. _"We'll get there in plenty of time._ _Auntie says she's cooking up something special for us._ _Of course, anything would taste better than cafeteria food right now."_

"OK, OK," Dean cut in quickly. "I'll be there. 11:30, outside the Student Center. Easy."

"Oh, sorry. I was babbling, wasn't I? Sorry," Sue apologized again. "I'll leave you be. I have to get to class anyway. Bye!"

"Bye," Dean huffed and snapped the phone shut. Sam's cat face was close to grinning. Dean pointed a warning finger at him. "Not a word, dude. Not a single word."

_**14.**_

"Hi!" Sue practically skipped her way over the Impala and promptly started to pet Sam through the open window.

Dean hid a smirk as he watched his brother struggle with himself. "Hi, Sue."

"You guys all set?" She directed the words at Sam, but Dean figured he would be the one to answer them. Who knew what Sam might do.

"Yep. Ready when you are."

Sue happily picked Sam up, buckled herself in, and held him on her lap. She rattled off directions from the passenger seat as Dean drove, still petting Sam. The stubborn mule had given up and was purring loudly beneath her scratching fingers, but he watched the scenery fly by through slitted eyes, refusing to allow his cat-brain to take over. Dean had been talking to him all morning, trying to engage him. Sam was more grateful than he wanted to admit.

"You sure are well behaved," Sue cooed in his ear. "Do you go driving with your daddy often?"

Dean nearly choked on his tongue, and even Sam sounded like he might have a hair ball. "Uh, Sam and I spend a lot of time in the car," Dean muttered, past the whatever caught in his throat. "We're road tripping."

"Oh-my-gosh, that must be difficult. How many hotels are willing to take a cat? Or do you camp out?" Questions flew at him faster than Dean could manage, but he fielded them well, and he was more than grateful when Sue paused to direct him into a shaded driveway.

Sam had ignored Sue. If she kept at it, he was sure he'd scratch her. Driving with his dad — ha! Now, he watched the quiet residential neighborhood closely. Witches were good at hiding in plain sight, but there was usually something that gave them away. Except for the almost Stepford quality to everything, Sam had seen nothing our of the ordinary.

A quick movement in one of the bushes lining the drive caught his eye, and Sam crouched low, hiding behind the half open window. There was a gentle breeze blowing, but something else was making the branch move more than it should. Fearing a spell or lookout of some kind, Sam watched it carefully, going hunter-still.

"Aw! Did you see a bird, Sam? Aren't you a mighty hunter," Sue exclaimed.

Sam closed his eyes and carefully counted to ten in English, Latin, Spanish, and ancient Greek. She obviously didn't hear how moronic she sounded. His claws flexed — accidentally — as the branch moved again. It was hard to tell with his odd, black and white vision, but Sam was pretty sure it wasn't a danger, just a bird.

Dean watched his brother with amusement. He'd never let Sam live this down. Not in a million years. Thinking it wise to distract Sue, he said quickly, "Nice place."

"Oh, it's been in the family for years, and Aunt Marge has lived here for practically forever," Sue explained as she got out. "Auntie inherited the house when her great-grandmother died. That was back in the sixties, I think. Anyway, everyone says Aunt Marge is the spitting image of Great-granma Patience. She keeps cats and everything."

Dean and Sam both filed that interesting information away for later. They could be dealing with a whole coven or alliance of witches. That would make their whole job a thousand times worse, and they'd definitely need some kind of back up.

Taking a deep breath, Dean asked, "So shall we go in?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**15.**_

Sam's overall impression of Aunt Marge's house was that it smelled, not unpleasantly. There were scents layered on scents that had Sam's sensitive nose twitching crazily. Judging from the expression on Dean's face, he could smell things too, and he didn't like them. Sam ignored him and busied himself trying to pick out individual odors.

The strongest smells were territory markers from the current residents. Four unique, feline individuals ruled the house between them, the various scent markings on the doorways proclaiming who owned the foyer, living room, and dining room. Faint traces of something unpleasant made Sam's hackles rise until he saw a dog and a strong wave washed over him. For an exciting moment, he thought they'd found witch. Then Sam realized the cat-brain was taking over in its instinctual wariness of dogs. He deliberately flattened his fur and went back to scouting.

Dean jostled him, and Sam knew it wasn't accidental so he looked around. Aunt Marge was with them now, hugging Sue and patting her niece's back happily. Both hunters tensed as watery blue-green eyes regarded them carefully.

Sam immediately realized that Aunt Marge wasn't the witch. She did not smell nor look like the bitch who had stolen his body, and she didn't have that — that _witchy_ sense to her. Sam immediately relaxed, and Dean warily went along with him for once.

"Dean," Marge said, holding out a hand, "so nice to meet you. And you too, Sam. Susie tells me you're looking for a cat."

Dean obviously expected the handshake, but he startled slightly, making Sam's claws clutch his arm for balance, when Aunt Marge also held out her hand for Sam next. Unsure what to do, the brothers exchanged a quick glance. The expression in Dean's eyes suggested a "What the hell? Just go for it." So Sam carefully stretched his head out to get a good whiff of her.

The dog-scent overwhelmed him again, along with the other cats' scents, and something else that made his mouth water. Licking back the saliva that was threatening, Sam got another, stronger _taste-smell_ of the deliciousness.

He had to forcefully reign in his cat-brain to hear Marge saying, "I hope you brought your appetites with you. I made a double tuna noodle casserole. There'll be enough for all."

Sue bounced excitedly at the news and made appreciative noises. Sam just knew his brother was watching the girl's chest. Dean winced and nearly dropped Sam when sharp claws dug into his arms again. Sam looked up at his brother, craning his neck uncomfortably, and tried to convey, "Behave! We're guests, man."

Dean looked back, and Sam knew that look too. A few more scratches were added to Dean's skin before he finally relented and started talking with Aunt Marge.

"It's been a long time since I've had a good casserole," he said, hamming it up. Sam rolled his eyes, but silently agreed. They almost never got a home-cooked meal in their line of work.

"Dean is on a road trip," Susie explained helpfully.

"Oh, I see. You'll have to tell us about some of the things you've seen. I'm too old to go out and see things for myself," Marge sighed.

"You aren't too old, Aunt Marge!" Sue wrapped her arms around her aunt and hugged fiercely.

Marge just chuckled and hugged back. Eventually, she pulled away. "I'm sorry. I don't see Sue that much any more, not since she moved in to the dorms. Although why she couldn't stay here, with me, I don't know. And I don't want to hear it again, young lady." A scolding finger snapped Sue's mouth closed with a near audible click of teeth. "Now, enough of this. You didn't come to listen to an old woman ramble, Dean. You probably only came for the food."

As if in agreement, Dean's stomach rumbled quietly. He laughed unashamedly and said, "Of course not, ma'am. I'm here for Sammy — but the food definitely makes it worth my while."

Aunt Marge laughed happily and began shepherding them all into the dining room. "Sit down, young'uns. I'll be right out with the casserole."

_**16.**_

Aunt Marge brought out the steaming casserole dish and set it on the table. Everyone inhaled gratefully, and Dean's stomach gave another rumble. Sue giggled. Marge smiled at them as she began to serve up huge portions and lay them in front of her guests. Puzzled, Dean watched as she picked carefully through the mess of noodles, cheese, and tuna, discarding the noodles then putting what was left on three little saucers.

"I don't know how friendly your Sam is, Dean, so I gave him a plate all to himself," Aunt Marge explained. "Maybe he'll find his friend while he eats."

Dean and Sam shared a look. Sam obviously had no more idea of what to do than Dean, who shrugged and gave Sam a helpless look.

"Com on, babies," Marge called, clicking her tongue softly. "Lunch time."

Cats immediately began to congregate around the old woman's feet from every corner of the house as Marge settled the plates in a corner of the room. One even jumped down from an unoccupied chair at the dining table. This one gave Sam a long, hard stare before settling itself at one of the plates, nearly shoving aside another cat.

Sam looked at Dean again, a hint of pleading in his eyes.

"Go on, dude." Dean chuckled. "Go make friends and influence cats."

Reluctantly, Sam left Dean's side and joined the other cats. He got some hostile looks and a few inquisitive sniffs, but was ignored for the most part in favor of eating. Dean watched his little brother to make sure that nobody gave Sam any trouble and that he was eating before picking up his own fork.

Meal time conversation was light, almost fun. Though Dean was really getting tired of Sue. Sweet as she was, she was just too sweet. Both women enjoyed some of the stories Dean told them about what he'd seen during a life time on the road. Sam would occasionally flick an ear back to listen in, but for the most part, he just ate. Oh boy, did he eat.

As a cat, his sense of smell and taste had increased exponentially. Before, he'd thought the casserole merely smelled good; now, he was in love. Every flavor burst on his tongue and flooded his nose. Tuna had just become his new favorite food. Or maybe cheese was — he couldn't make up his mind, not when he was eating.

The human's conversation caught his attention when Marge said, "You know, Dean, I've seen a big handsome tabby like Sam prowling my neighborhood before. He usually comes when one of my females is in heat. I try to fix my cats and dogs quick as I can after I get them, but I have to wait for the free clinics. So every so often that bad boy comes sniffing around."

Sam flinched into his bowl, dropping his mouthful of cheesy tuna. Dean, however, was not as visibly affected. "Sam and I are staying a good half hour away, ma'am. And we've only been in town for about a week. I wonder if Sam has a long lost brother?"

"Maybe," Aunt Marge hummed, looking thoughtfully over at Sam. "I just wanted to make sure your boy didn't leave me kittens to find homes for. I noticed he isn't neutered. Have you considered taking him to a vet while you're in a town?"

Dean winced comically and quickly lowered a hand beneath the table. "Um, I don't think so, ma'am. That's kind of a uh, sensitive matter."

_**17.**_

Sue suddenly lost her sugar coating, looking reproachfully at Dean. "Do you know how many pets are abandoned each year because they get pregnant? How many puppies and kittens are dumped and left to die? Neutering Sam is the right thing to do."

Sam cowered where he was on the floor, ears pinned back, tail tucked tightly around his quivering body. He knew Dean wouldn't listen to them, but still. Threatening a guy's manhood, even in a borrowed body, wasn't polite. It was down right evil.

He heard Dean draw breath to retort, probably with something nasty, but Aunt Marge beat him to the punch.

"Now, Sue. It's Dean's decision, and while we may not agree with it, we can't force him to do anything," she said calmly. "Though I strongly suggest that you consider it, Dean. What Sue said it right, but enough of this. Have you ever been to Niagara Falls?"

Just like that, the tension was broken, though Sam kept a wary eye on Sue. She was quiet for a while, giving Dean the cold shoulder. And Sam really thought he might have to watch himself around her. There was no telling if the witch's spell would have lingering physical effect if — when they found her and got Sam's body back.

Sam didn't eat any more, and Marge's cats were happy to finish for him. After the requisite bathing of faces and paws, the cats slowly scattered. Sam followed quietly behind them, trying to figure out what he should do. Most of the cats found a favorite sleeping place and curled up. The house didn't lack for large, open windows, and patches of warm autumn sun were everywhere.

Despite the call of sleep and comfort, Sam wandered around some more. He explored the living and dining rooms and learned how to pick out old and new scents. Cats and dogs had been claiming and reclaiming the house for decades, and despite impeccable house keeping, Aunt Marge simply couldn't erase all the signs.

When Sam was investigating the kitchen, keeping an ear pricked to hear the humans talking in the living room, he noticed a very distinctive smell. Instead of making his mouth water, the scent stirred other instincts. Sam's eyes widened as he realized one of Marge's cats was female and that she'd recently been in heat. His next reaction was embarrassment because he was getting horny over a cat. He needed to get his own body back pronto.

Another scent caught his attention, and Sam followed his nose to it. Unfortunately, following the scent meant that he had to jump up onto the kitchen counter. He really didn't think that Marge would approve, and he silently apologized to the nice old lady as he gathered himself to spring.

Intellectually, Sam knew that cats made jumps similar to his every minute of every day, but the human brain in Sam was also protesting that there was no way that he could make that jump. It was impossible, unless he was some kind of circus acrobat or a Jedi using the Force. Still, his hindquarters twitched at the thought of jumping, and he felt his muscles instinctively preparing.

Sam realized he'd have to trust the cat-brain he fought so hard against if he was going to make this jump. He took a deep breath and let go just a tiny bit.

He popped up on his hind legs, scouting the clean counter top, then crouched again. His back feet twitched and balanced his weight carefully. A curious detachment took over Sam's mind as he felt his muscles tense and release. It was over in a split second, and Sam was standing on the pristine, white tiled counter. Sun streamed in through the windows, warming his fur deliciously and making Sam think of just curling up and staying here forever.

Not allowing the cat-brain to take over, Sam walked right up to the window screen. The outside sill was lined with flower boxes full of mums in a riot of fall colors. Most of the blooms were straight, but several plants were bent and the dirt was tamped down. Something had sat there for a long time, maybe a few days ago.

Sam took a deep breath, double checking the scent. There was a deep musk that told Sam a male cat had made the marks, and a tickle of spices and herbs made him want to sneeze. There was something else, almost like the ozone crackle of static electricity only worse, that made Sam back away.

He was so caught up in fighting his human and cat instincts that Sam forgot he was on a narrow counter top, four feet off the ground. He felt himself sliding and put his claws out. His back legs pinwheeled, looking for purchase, and his front claws squeaked quietly on the tile. Sam knew it was hopeless, and training kicked in.

He let himself go, retracting his claws and relaxing all his muscles. The necessary blank in concentration gave the cat-brain an opening, and it struck with full force. Instead of relaxing into the fall, Sam's muscles tensed and turned. He twisted in midair to land with a solid, paw stinging thump on the kitchen floor, right side up and unhurt.

His landing must have been very loud because all the humans appeared in the doorway, peering curiously at him. Sam met Dean's wide, worried eyes and wink-blinked. (Cat's couldn't wink, who knew?) Aunt Marge's stern face caught his attention next, and he shrunk into himself.

"Were you up on my counter, young man?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips. Sam looked at Dean, asking for help. "Oh no, you don't. Dean won't help you. I don't let my babies on the counter, and you're no exception to the rule, Sam."

"Aunt Marge," Dean cut in, "I'm sorry. Sam's not well behaved, I know, but I just can't get him to listen. Usually, he only acts up when he wants something, gets real bitchy too."

"Well, I'm guessing Sam is bored then," she huffed. "He eats my good casserole and wants to leave. Fine then."

Dean opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, when he saw the twinkle of humor in the kind blue eyes. "Yes, ma'am. Sam's a regular little ingrate."

Marge laughed and bent down. She made the clicking noise again, and Sam realized she wanted him. Reluctantly, he trotted over to her. She stroked him gently, all sternness gone. "All right, Sam. I'll let you boys go — this time, but only because you brought Sue to see me. I've been pestering her for a visit, and she just wouldn't listen. But if you ever jump on my counters again, I will take you to the vet myself. Understood?"

Sam released the cat-brain and began to purr, rubbing himself harder against Marge's hand. She laughed at him and called him a charmer. Then Dean was scooping him up and saying good-bye. Sue and Marge saw them to the porch and stood waving as Dean backed out of the driveway.


	7. Chapter 7

_**18.**_

"So," Dean said, "What'd ya see, Sammy?"

They'd made it back to the motel and were sitting around the Ouija board again. Dean's eyes were alight, and he was obviously ready to go. Sam wondered if he wanted Sam's human body back as much as Sam himself did.

"_found smell"_

"Nice, Sam. How is that useful again?"

"_witch's cat follow him"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're telling me you found the witch's cat? You are the witch's cat, man. S'not possible."

"_he went to house days ago follow him home" _Sam glared at Dean while he pieced together the message. Sometimes he really wished his brother would just _see_ what was going on.

Dean finally got it. "You're gonna play blood hound and follow the cat right back to the witch. Knew you were the brains, man."

Sam let his smugness show, settling comfortably into a crouch on the table. _"wait can't go back yet" _

"We could steal a car." Dean waved the concern aside. "If we left right now, we could have you back to normal by tonight."

"_forgetting something how to reverse spell"_

Dean gave Sam a cocky look, opened his mouth, thought about it, and promptly shut his mouth again. Sam really wanted his human body back at that moment just so he could say, "Uh huh, thought so."

"OK, maybe you're right," Dean conceded. "But everyone else got back to normal, so there's a way back for you too. I'll bet she'll fold once we find her."

"_not chancing research check sites again"_

Dean grumbled some but started up the laptop and took it over to the bed, setting it where they could both see it. Sam was running through all the research he could remember, but his mental library wasn't working right. He felt sleepy and slow. All he really wanted was a nap — well, that and to get his body back.

Being warm would be a good thing, too. Dean was warm, even on the coldest of stakeouts. It seemed perfectly natural to climb into Dean's lap and sprawl down his brother's legs. A tiny part of him realized the cat-brain was taking over, but Dean's lap was warm, and Sam was tired. He didn't even remember closing his eyes.

Dean frowned down at Sam's sleeping feline body. His brother was acting less and less like himself, and Dean really got the feeling that they were running out of time. Sam as a cat was cute, but Dean just wanted his brother back.

Ignoring the warm, softly purring weight on his legs, Dean turned back to the computer. He vowed he would go over everything with a fine tooth comb — twice, and then he'd call Ellen, or maybe Bobby. Someone had to know something, and Dean was going to find out.

_**19.**_

Sam woke to an insistent prodding in his ribs. He cracked an eye and saw Dean leaning over him, poking again.

"Come one, Sam. You gotta move. My legs are asleep, and I have to pee," he said.

Sam blinked and thought about it. He didn't really want to get up, but going outside sounded good. Slowly, he coaxed lax muscles to pull himself upright and stretch, making it easier to stand. Then he stepped delicately off Dean's lap and headed for the door.

Dean groaned as blood began to seep back into his legs. Pins and needles didn't begin to describe the feeling. Seeing Sam waiting patiently, he grumbled, "Me first. You can hold it. I'm gonna explode."

He hobbled to the bathroom and took care of business. Sam was still waiting by the door for him when he came out. Dean opened the door and stood rubbing his thigh thoughtfully as he waited.

His research had been rather inconclusive. Sam had found almost everything there was to find, and Dean couldn't find anything else himself. He'd found a few tentative sources, but nothing concrete. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something.

A soft brush against his shin brought Dean out of his musings. Sam was back and curling around his legs, looking imploringly up at him.

"Lemme bet. You're hungry now?"

Sam nodded, purred, and rubbed against Dean some more.

Dean sighed and reached down to pick Sam up. "OK, let's go get something to eat."

Later, Dean booted the laptop again and dragged Sam over so he could see. "All right, so I think I've found something you missed," he began. Sam snorted and looked doubtful. "Seriously, man. I did hunt on my own for a while. I can do this."

The expression on Sam's face clearly stated otherwise, but Dean was on a mission, and he wasn't going to loose focus.

"Anyway, we've figured out that you're starting to act like a cat because you're in a cat's body, right? And we're running out of time as your instincts take over. Vunas witches have always known this, Sam. There's a legend — " Dean clicked open the webpage where'd he found it — "that warns against staying in animal shape too long because you won't be able to come back. So I'm think our witch-bitch is blackmailing her victims."

Sam nodded slowly as he scanned the new information. His cat's eyes did not want to focus properly on the screen. What Dean said made sense. Even now, he could barely concentrate, and he found it hard to understand his brother.

"We have to get your body back, Sam. We should go tonight. You said you can follow the scent. Let's track her down and attack," Dean urged.

Sam shook his head and went to the Ouija board. _"how do i get body back"_

"We'll ask the witch. I still say we can scare her into doing it." Dean didn't like strong-arm tactics, but he'd do what he had to. "We make her free anyone else she's done this to, and then we gank her."

"_i want 2 be sure no mistakes again"_

Dean narrowed his eyes in frustration. "I can't be sure, Sam. There's just not enough out there. The internet has everything but a reversal spell."

"_don't use internet call bobby"_

"I was leaving that as a last resort," Dean muttered unhappily, but he was reaching for one of their many cellphones.

_**20.**_

The first question Bobby asked after Dean explained the situation to him was, _"How long has Sam been a cat?"_

"Um," Dean quickly counted in his head, "Just about two days. He's been going in and out of cat mode."

"_You been able to talk with him somehow?"_ Bobby sounded doubtful, like he couldn't believe they'd find a way to communicate on their own.

"Yeah, we make do," Dean hedged, not willing to subject himself to the older hunter's teasing at using an Ouija board. "Anyway, can ya help at all, Bobby? I've looked everywhere online and got nothin'. I don't think Sam's got much time left."

He cast a nervous glance over at Sam, who was sitting on the table by his ear to listen in on the conversation. Bobby let out a gusty sigh that echoed loudly down the phone line, making both boys jerk back.

"_If he's already loosing consciousness or whatever in the body, then no. You don't have time. But you also gotta watch out for his human body, Dean."_

"What d'you mean?" Dean asked, his heart sinking into his guts, which were also somewhere around his knees. "We don't have his human body. The witch took it with her when she pulled her little disappearing act."

"_Damnit!"_ Bobby swore and explained, _"If something happens to Sam's body, it won't heal when he goes back to it. Think about the places a cat goes, the things it tries to do. An animal won't realize its body is different. That cat tries to climb a tree, and a branch breaks under Sam's weight. The cat falls and does who knows what damage to a human boy. If Sam's body dies, he'll be stuck as a cat, or going back to a body with God knows how many problems."_

Dean felt the blood drain from his face at the thought. He'd never really paused to think about what a cat was doing running around in his brother's body. Anything could have happened by now.

"What do I do, Bobby?" His voice came out as a hoarse croak of miserable fear. "Sam thinks he can follow the scent, but we don't know how to switch them back. He won't go until we know."

"_Well,"_ Bobby mused, rustling pages and thumping books already, _"You could try just killing the witch."_

Dean shot Sam a triumphant look. He'd said that from the beginning.

"_But you're not guaranteed a reversal if you do. She could have put some kind of binding spell on her victims that will outlast her. That's some powerful magic right there, and your gal doesn't seem the powerful type, but you never know."_ Bobby sighed again. _"I'd say go catch the witch and Sam's body. Keep a hold of them until I get back to you. Keep Sam's body safe, and try and get a solution out of the witch. I'll call ya soon as I have anythin'."_

"OK, thanks, Bo - " The buzz of a dial tone told Dean the older hunter had already hung up. He looked at the phone for a long moment then muttered, "Bye."

Sam snort-laughed next to him, and Dean turned on him. Dean was ready to say I-told-you-so, but everything about Sam's body language screamed that he knew Dean was right. There was no need to argue. Dean contented himself with a smirk and a quick scratch behind Sam's ears by way of apology.

"Whaddya think, Sammy? You ready to entertain some guests?" Dean look around their motel room. There was no way they could hold prisoners here. Besides the maid, people were constantly around, and the walls were beyond thin. Dean would have to find someplace else. An old warehouse, maybe. Or the house where'd they'd first encountered the witch. That had been deserted enough.

Absently, Dean realized he was still scratching Sam, and his brother was loving it. His purr was back full force, and he was carefully moving his head to direct Dean's fingers. Dean would have laughed, but he could tell Sam was being a cat again. The lights were on, but his brother wasn't home.


	8. Chapter 8

_**21.**_

Sam's head turned constantly as he watched the world around him through the passenger window of the Impala. He fought to keep the cat down, forcing himself to name everything he saw in all the languages he knew. The mental gymnastics were helping a bit, and Dean jumped in when he thought that Sam was losing it.

After his last trip into Kitty La-la Land, Dean had fought for nearly an hour to get Sam back. Dean's relief when Sam had scratched him had been palpable, and Sam knew his brother was truly afraid for him. That made him even more determined to follow the witch-cat's scent and get his body back.

They'd returned to Aunt Marge's house and were waiting for the lights to go out. Dean wanted to follow the trail from the beginning, and Sam hated to spell out his arguments, so he'd let Dean win. He might admit that he wanting to go as much as Dean, but someone had to do the thinking.

Though Dean was the one who'd thought of their current hiding place. One of the houses down the block from Marge's was for sale, and the driveway was hidden by hedges that badly needed trimmed. Dean had a clear binocular enhanced view of Marge's windows, and Sam could see well enough without them.

Sam was busy watching bats flutter above them when he felt Dean tense behind him. His first reaction was to look at his brother, but Dean was still watching the house.

"Bingo," he muttered. "Lights out."

Sam turned back, and sure enough, Aunt Marge's house was dark. He turned a questioning gaze on Dean, involuntarily thumping his tail in his eagerness.

"Not yet. Let's wait to make sure she's asleep. Don't want her calling the cops," Dean said. He sprawled back in his seat, relaxing his action-tensed muscles. Sam would have loved to join him, maybe crawl into his lap to be pet some more, but he wouldn't risk blacking out again.

Instead, he minced over and nudged Dean's hand.

"Right," Dean sighed. "Still gotta keep li'l bro amused on stake outs. You always were impatient, Sammy."

There was a light, teasing note to Dean's voice, but Sam still nipped his knuckle harder than was maybe friendly. Dean chuckled and shoved him gently away.

"You do know I'll never let you forget this, right dude?"

Sam sighed and nodded. He'd never live it down, but he had plenty of his own amo now. Dean might act all tough, but he had a marshmallow center.

Dean checked his watch in the dark, angling it to a nearby streetlight. He glanced across at Sam and grinned. "Time to go."

He grabbed the duffle then quietly opened the door. Sam jumped out after him and waited for Dean to ease the door shut. The squeaking hinges and slam sounded alarmingly loud on the still street. Luckily, Marge's dog didn't bark, and no one came out to see what the noise was. Looks were traded, nods exchanged, and they set off across the street together.

_**22.**_

Hugging the shadows whenever possible, Dean walked casually along the dark street. Sam trotted at his side, blending in well with the moon mottled shadows. Dean huffed and readjusted his equipment duffle.

"Just a man and his cat, out for a walk," he muttered. The slight brush of Sam's body against his shin made him jump and chuckle. "You try telling the cops that."

Sam stayed away this time and lead the way into Aunt Marge's back yard. There was no gate or wall, just a small strip of open grass between some bushes and the house. Dean glanced around before slipping around the corner. The street was still quiet, no one saw them — he hoped.

Dean followed Sam around to some window boxes that looked eerie and sinister in the silvery light. Sam jumped up and nosed around the plants for a long minute. Dean shifted anxiously as he waited and kept a nervous lookout. Sam was taking too long. He'd give him another minute, then he was calling it all off.

Suddenly, Sam looked up, and Dean stood stock still. His brother looked like he belonged in this world of moonlight and shadows. Dark lines around his eyes accented them as they glowed eerily in the night. The silver of his fur was highlighted and made the dark lines that streaked him almost black. The whole effect made Dean shiver involuntarily.

Then he shook it off, growling, "You ready yet? I don't wanna stick around here."

Sam snorted once and nodded. Then he jumped down and cast around for a moment. Dean hiked the bag higher and waited.

Sam ignored Dean's shifting as he caught the faint scent in the grass. It was old, almost gone, but Sam's nose could follow it. He set off through the yard, heading away from the Impala. Sam's human mind said to run, get there as fast as he could, and get his body back. The cat-brain urged caution as he stalked his prey. He settled on a quick trot that only slightly outpaced his brother's jog.

Dean kept up, but he was noisy. Sam felt a moment of contempt for his clumsiness as Sam wound his way through a low hanging pine. Dean clomped through with loud rustles and a curse for sharp needles. It was a wonder they ever caught anything if supernatural beings had ears half as good as Sam's were now.

He pushed the thought aside in favor of finding the scent where it was lost on concrete. They were standing at the edge of a driveway. One car was parked up near the house, hiding them from the windows. Sam cursed silently and moved a bit.

The concrete smelt hot and flat, almost salty like the sea. There were scents of chemicals, motor oil, and dirt. The cat scent was gone.

Quickly, Sam darted along the edge of the driveway, searching for the trail where it came off the concrete. There was nothing down the side, and there was no grass near the house. A rough sidewalk met the drive after fifteen feet, and Sam knew he wouldn't find the scent there. Then a tuft of grass caught his attention.

It clung to life between the paving of the drive way and the asphalt of the road. It was tiny, probably only one stray seed had blown into the crack, but it held the hint of herbs and magic. Alert, Sam searched quickly and thought he could smell something on the asphalt.

He darted across the street, oblivious to Dean's curse and pounding footsteps. Then he was in another yard, and the scent surrounded him. The trail led through this yard, around the house, into the back yard. It trailed trees and bushes, even wrapped around a children's swing set. Sam followed it everywhere, back tracking where the tom had jumped up on a fence and into a tree.

The tree caught Sam's attention. It positively reeked of the tom, and there was something else there: a combination of body odor, sweat, and cheap shampoo. Sam recognized it with a jolt as the shampoo he'd picked up at some tiny, over-priced gas station just a week ago. His body had been here and not long ago.

He turned to Dean and nearly fell off the narrow branch. He was a good eight feet in the air, hanging above a scraggly yard stretched behind a clapboard house that had seen better days.

"Find anything?" Dean's voice hissed out the darkness below him.

Sam looked down at him and nodded, hoping Dean could see him.

"Split up. Meet you here in five," Dean ordered.

_**23.**_

Not quite five minutes later, Sam was perched in the tree again, waiting for Dean. He could hear rustling coming closer and the familiar cadence of his brother's walk. Smirking, Sam jumped down, landed easily, and went toward the noise.

Dean jumped and brought up his silver loaded shotgun when something loomed out of the darkness right in front of him. He recognized the glint of moonlight in Sam's silver fur and relaxed a bit.

"Find anything?"

Sam nodded and turned around, looking back over his shoulder at Dean.

Shrugging, Dean figured he should follow. Sam led the way through the back yard, right up to the house. Just around the corner, there was a trellis overgrown with ivy. Sam looked expectantly at Dean, the trellis, and then up at a dark window.

"No way, man. That is so Hollywood!" Dean protested. "It'll never hold."

Sam sighed and looked at Dean. He fidgeted but met the stare evenly, without flinching. It was Sam who gave up first, for a change. His gaze skittered away for a moment, but then he was looking at Dean again with questions in his eyes.

"I don't know!" Dean hissed. "I didn't find any way in."

Everything about Sam screamed, _"What's your problem then? How else do you get in?"_

Dean sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, but this just feels wrong. Kind of like Scooby-Doo or somethin'."

Sam snorted.

"OK, fine. I'm going." Dean settled the duffle on his shoulder then grasped the trellis. It felt solid enough, but the ivy made it hard to grip. He look back at Sam, who nodded in encouragement. "If I fall and break my neck, dude..."

Sam snorted again.

After taking a deep breath, Dean began to climb. He'd tried climbing a trellis only once before, when he was seventeen and thought it would be awesome to sneak into Clara Moore's room for a make out session. That had ended with Dean black and blue, Clara's angry father looming over him, and a quick escape from town. Dean really didn't want to do this.

He realized he'd made it all the way up and blinked. The window was just a foot to his right. Dean reached over and carefully tried to force it up. The sash wouldn't budge, and Dean cursed quietly. He removed one shaky hand from its death grip on ivy and wood to fish out his pocket knife.

His hand trembled as he wedged the blade in and jimmied the lock. There was a quiet squeak and _snick_ as the window opened, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. He glanced down at Sam and flashed him a grinning thumbs up.

Dean quickly put the knife away and eased the window open. It'd only gotten about six inches when the trellis wobbled alarmingly, and he was forced to grab the sill to steady himself. An ominous creak echoed quietly in the stillness. He had to get off — fast.

Adrenaline lent him strength as he heaved the window fully open, and Dean could never tell how he got inside. It was some sort of scrambling slide or whatever, but he got in. Dean glanced quickly around the room, turned back to the window, and looked again.

Strange, angular shapes loomed out of the shadows, looking like some sort of crazy mini-playground. The walls were lined with strange shelves and messed-up birdhouse looking things. Dean's face twisted into a frown of confusion. What the hell had he stumbled in to?

A scrabbling noise caught his attention, and he whirled back to the window.

Sam's head barely peaked over the sill, and his front paws clung desperately to the aged wood as he claws dug in.

"Sam," Dean hissed, leaning over to grab him. Being snagged around the middle probably wasn't the most heroic or comfortable rescue, but Sam ignored that as he shook his fur flat and looked around.

They'd really gone down the rabbit hole on this one.

_**24.**_

Sam looked up at Dean and saw his confusion mirrored in his brother's eyes. He tried to shrug and jerked his head forward. Dean waved him on and raised his gun, covering Sam as he scouted ahead.

The room smelled old, probably because the house itself was old. There were other cat scents in the room, most of them old too, with only two fresh scents. Sam brushed carefully past a carpeted ramp that led to some of the weird shelves and a tower in the center of the room. There wasn't even a whiff of magic, and Sam could only conclude that this was some sort of . . . _playroom_ for her familiars.

Another scent caught Sam's attention suddenly, and he found himself jumping up a series of shelves until he got to about waist height. He was on a large platform now, and there was something on it. Dark sprinkles of some kind of dried plant that smelled heavenly. Sam's nose twitched as the cat-brain fought his control. His human brain said it must be catnip, and quick as thinking, Sam was rolling around in the stuff, licking it, eating it, trying to get more.

"Sam!" Dean's angry hiss startled him out of his kittenish delight, and Sam guiltily rolled to his feet.

Dean was standing over him, shotgun half raised, a bemused expression on his face. Sam glanced down, feeling distinctly like he'd been caught in the cookie jar.

"I know it's difficult, but could you please try to stay focused? I'll buy you some catnip all of your very own — after we get the witch," Dean promised.

Sam nodded and jumped down. The faint breeze of his passing stirred the catnip caught in his fur, and he took one last, longing sniff before making himself focus. Dean followed on Sam's heels, alert for more catnip no doubt, as they picked their way out of Kitty Disneyland and into the hall.

There were no lights, no signs of life. The floorboards creaked quietly under Dean's boots, and he winced. Sam padded on, oblivious or just ignoring him. Several rooms led off the hall, each behind their own closed door.

The first on their left was obviously the witch's work room. The reek of herbs, magic, and more catnip made Sam wrinkle his nose and fight down a sneeze. Dean looked at him as Sam made a strangled sob-sniff noise, but Sam shook his head and moved on.

The next room was empty, smelling of dust and mothballs. A few mice scratched around, but Sam easily ignored them. The final room, right at the top of the stairs, had a cat flap. Sam sniffed delicately and knew immediately that the witch, a cat, and what Sam thought was his human body were all in the room.

He glanced up at Dean, feeling the fur rising on his back and tail. Dean nodded and checked his shotgun. Then he reached carefully into the duffle and brought out a cloth sack with symbols painted onto the fabric. The symbols were from Dad's journal and would supposedly put whatever supernatural creature caught in the bag into a sort of trance and bind any powers it had. They'd used it before on chupacabras, but never a witch. They could only hope it worked.

Dean took a deep breath, hearing the faint whistling echo of Sam doing the same at his feet. His left hand slowly curled around the doorknob. He look down at Sam, mouthing _"On three,"_ as he eased the door open.

Sam tensed as Dean nodded once, twice, three times. The hinges were well oiled and didn't squeak. The door swung open to reveal a dark bedroom that looked quite ordinary.

A large bed dominated the room. A cat looked up from the corner of the mattress but didn't otherwise move. A human shaped lump didn't stir either, and Dean made straight for it. Suddenly, a tousled head snapped up from behind the first body. Dean froze, and Sam found out that cats could gasp.

He was looked up at himself on the bed, snuggled comfortably behind the witch.

_**25.**_

Dean never hesitated. The sight of his brother's body, shirtless, with a few minor scrapes, forced him to move. He snapped the rune painted sack over the witch's head and pulled it tight, waking her with a muffled cry. She struggled for a moment then went limp.

Sam's body sprang at him, hands extended, fingers curled claw-like. He hated to do it, Dean never liked to hurt Sam, but he landed to solid blows to the body's chin as it sprang for him. It went limp, sprawling over its quiescent mistress.

Sam jumped up on the bed at that moment, surveying the scene. He turned accusing eyes on Dean, who could only shrug and mutter, "Sorry, dude, had to be done."

Then they were faced with the problem of what to do with their captives. Sam wasn't exactly himself and couldn't get the car or stand guard. Dean would have to do everything himself.

"Great," he growled. "I'm gonna have to lug both your asses every where."

Sam snorted again, and curled up on top of his body. Dean's brain boggled at the idea of Sam sitting on himself, and he quickly shook it off by digging out a short length of rope from the duffle. It was barely enough to pull Sam's arms behind his back and tie him up. Dean frowned at the makeshift measure but could do no more.

He arranged Sam's body over the witch, using his weight to pin her down, and rechecked the sack-hood. The cloth was securely fastened, drawstring pulled tight and knotted. Sam moved grudgingly during the operation and immediately resettled himself when Dean was done.

Dean sighed and said, "You . . . stand guard, Sammy. Bite 'em if they move or something. I'll be back in ten."

Sam nodded and met Dean's eyes. Little boy trust and the newer, older Sam stared out at him from feline eyes. A shiver ran down his back, and Dean backed quickly out the door and raced down the steps.

He peeked out the front door before opening it cautiously. It would be just his luck for some nosy neighbor to be peering out their window when Dean popped out the door. Judging by the appalling squawk the hinges made, the witch didn't have many visitors. Then he took off at a jog through the silent streets.

Sam's ears pricked when a familiar, mechanical purr reached his ears. A minute later, the engine stopped and a door creaked open. Dean's footsteps sounded loud the next second, and Sam readied himself. Neither of his captives had woken, though he thought maybe the witch had twitched once or twice. Dean must have really hit his body hard if it still wasn't stirring.

Then Dean was in the room, and Sam was trying to dance out of his brother's way while still keeping an eye on his body. It was shifted aside, so Dean could reach the witch, and left for later. Dean took her first, slinging her over his shoulders and clumping down the stairs. Some of the thumps sounded like a limp body part or head knocking off a wall, but Sam wasn't going to call him for it. He'd like to hurt the bitch himself.

Dean was back a moment later, slightly out of breath.

"Time for your long ass self, Sammy," he teased, already hoisting Sam into a careful fireman's carry.

The second descent was much quieter than Dean's first, and he was extra careful with his brother's body. Sam followed him, barely a step behind, no doubt making sure Dean didn't wallop his precious head on the door. Dean smirked as he settled the body in the back seat. He'd flopped the witch in the too small foot well, regardless of the lingering, week old fast food wrappers.

Sam jumped in after himself then leapt across to the front seat. His claws never once touched the leather, and Dean was glad. Holes would be a bitch, and he'd just rebuilt his baby. Sam turned an expectant gaze on him, so Dean got in, started her up, and took off.

They were headed across town, a good half hour's drive, back to where it all started.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** is officially caught up! Updates will slow down now because I'm still writing and not entirely sure how it's going to end. I'm writing daily but will continue to post in chapters, not updates. If you're desperate for more, check out my LJ and follow the link to Sinful-Desire. I'll post daily updates there – and it's got some good stuff!

_**26.**_

Dean pulled up in front of the old house and cut the engine. He stared at the steering wheel between his hands for a moment as he thought. It was like that problem with the chicken and the fox and the grain. Dean didn't want to leave his brother's body while he took care of the witch, but he couldn't leave the bitch without a guard. Of course, this was _after_ he broke into the house again.

Sam head butted his elbow, purring quietly. Dean looked down at him, afraid he'd gone again, but Sam was still there, not lost in a feline haze.

"What?" He asked, scratching gently at Sam's ear. "You gonna be my guard dog again?"

Sam nodded, moving Dean's fingers at the same time. Dean chuckled and allowed it, enjoying the quiet moment before shit hit the fan. The purring got louder, and Dean knew it was time to stop. He reluctantly pulled his hand away and opened his door.

He took a good look at the empty street then sauntered casually up the sidewalk to the door. It took barely a moment to pick the lock and edge the door open. Then he went back to the Impala, opening the trunk.

A duffle could only hold so much, but the trunk of a car was so much bigger. There were several coils of rope disguising the hidden compartment. Dean dragged them out and trussed the witch up. Loops went around her hands and elbows, finished off with elaborate knots that would do any sailor proud. Knees and ankles came next, with even more loops. When Dean finally hauled the woman up, he groaned. All the rope had added about twenty pounds to her slight weight, or so it seemed.

Sam watched Dean drag their captive into the house and disappear. His ears were trained on the street, on the look out for curious pedestrians or cars, but he could faintly hear ascending footsteps and more painful thumps. He smirked, feeling very satisfied. Dean always looked out for him.

Then Dean was back, grabbing up Sam's body and heading inside again. Sam happily followed after them, noticing the change in the unconscious body's breathing pattern. It wouldn't stay out for much longer. He meowed a warning to Dean but barely got a sound out before he was shouting.

A bright light lit up inside his skull along with a pounding headache. He felt stretched and compacted all at once. His body lengthening while muscles bunched into new, familiar patterns. His vision swam, colors coming back in a Technicolor whorl. The shout went on, grew in volume, and Sam realized it was him making that noise.

He opened his eyes to see why only to be presented with a candid view of Dean's denim clad ass.

"Whoa!" He jerked back, felt himself unbalance.

A warm hand landed on his leg and Dean's shout turned into words. "Jesus, Sammy!"

Sam blinked, stared at the view in front of him. He was in his body, human again. His shoulders and wrists ached where the rough rope cut into his skin, and innumerable cuts stung with dirt and sweat. He also felt like he'd gone three rounds with a pissed off spirit and several walls. What had the stupid cat done to him?

"Sammy?" The caution in Dean's voice made Sam wince then hurry to assure him.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm back." He paused, wondering how to say it. "Uh, could you maybe put me down? And untie me?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Dean quickly set Sam upright, holding him by the shoulders until he regained his footing. Then he was staring into his brother's eyes — his normal hazel eyes. They were bright, alive, and _there_. He couldn't resist clapping Sam's back and saying, "Good to see ya, man."

Sam winced through a smile and said, "Yeah, nice to see you too. I'll give you a great big hug and we can talk all about it — as soon as you get this fucking ropes off me! I can't feel my hands, man."

Dean whipped his pocket knife out and sawed quickly through the ropes. Sam made a bitch face as strained muscles eased to normality and he rubbed his wrists.

"You OK? That cat didn't jump out of a tree or something, did it?"

"Naw, I'm fine." Then Sam thought about it and looked down at himself. "Actually, I'm gonna need some clothes."

_**27.**_

Their hunts tended to get messy so the brothers had learned early on to keep a set of clean clothes handy. Sam felt like some sort of girl, hiding behind the door and watching Dean get the spare duffle out of the trunk. Of course, he also didn't want to treat anyone to six foot four of boxer-clad man. Bad enough Dean would never let go of his body being in the witch's bed in only his boxers.

Sam wondered briefly about the clothes he'd been wearing when he got hit with the switching spell, but he had the sneaking suspicion that the cat had ruined them with all his crazy antics. Oh well, clothes never lasted long in their business.

"Heads up," Dean called, and Sam barely got his hands up in time to catch the duffle thrown at his head.

He muttered, "Thanks," then retreated to another room to change. He totally didn't want to think about running around naked for the last few days.

When Sam emerged a few minutes later, Dean looked him up and down. Same old human Sammy, no fur, no purring, perfect. There were a few bruises and Sam walked stiffly, but Dean figured the Tylenol he had in his jacket would help.

"Here," he said, offering the bottle of pills to Sam. "Looks like ya need 'em."

Sam snorted and took the bottle, downing three with a painful dry swallow. "So uh, now what?"

Dean blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't know, man," he admitted. "We got you back in the right body, and we've got _her_ all tied up."

"Do you still wanna go through with our original plan?" Sam asked cautiously.

Biting his lip, Dean looked over at Sam. Oh, he'd dearly love to go through with the original plan of ganking the witch. She messed with his Sammy! But Dean hesitated to kill something so human. "I think . . . maybe we should."

Sam's jaw hardened and he nodded. He didn't like killing her anymore than Dean did, but he saw no other way. Then an idea occurred to him.

"Hey Dean, what about Bobby?"

"What about Bobby?" Dean asked. "We've got you back. Unless this is some kind of trick, we don't need him anymore."

Sam shook his head, frustrated, but he never got a chance to answer. A cellphone buzzed quietly in Dean's pocket, making them both jump. Dean fished it out quickly and checked the caller ID. Then he flipped the phone open, grave eyes pinned on Sam.

"Yeah, Bobby?"

Sam's eyes widened. Talk of the devil! He went to Dean's side and bent his knees to line his ear up with the phone. Dean obligingly tilted it away from his ear so Sam could hear.

" — _Found anything about putting Sam back in the right body,"_ Bobby was saying.

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam interrupted. "I'm back, Bobby. Don't know how or why, but I'm back."

Bobby's gruff snort echoed down the line. "Well, that takes care of that then. And I did all that research on persuasion for nothing."

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam as he said slowly, "What do you mean 'persuasion?'"


	10. Chapter 10

_**28.**_

Sam cast one last worried glance at Dean. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure," Dean said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Sam. He stared at the closed door in front of them. The witch was behind that door, waiting for them.

Sam raised an eyebrow and glanced at the door. After a moment of silence, he said, "We gonna go in? I kinda wanna get back to the motel and shower, Dean."

Dean snapped into motion, just like Sam knew he would. Dean was always the protective big brother. The door opened on the same room where Sam had been switched. He didn't miss the shudder that passed through Dean. An answering shiver worked its way down Sam's back.

The room was just as empty and creepy as Sam remembered it being. Of course, he'd woken up in this room much closer to the ground, in an unfamiliar body, so he wasn't sure if the creepiness was real or imagined. Now he knew for sure that it was just creepy in the way only old, empty houses could be. The cheesy horror movie dust and spiderwebs didn't help matters much.

The witch was sprawled on the ground, no doubt right where Dean had left her, judging from the drag marks in the dust. The hood was lying next to her, still half on her head. Sam nodded as his sudden return made sense. Then he swallowed as he realized that all that stood between the witch and freedom was Dean's knots.

Dean strode forward. The fierce scowl on his face was only half for show. Bobby wasn't sure if their little trick would work, and the key to bluffing was to make the other person think that you believed the lie. It helped that he was really, really pissed off. Nobody touched his brother.

"Listen up, witch-bitch. I'm only gonna say this once," he growled, nudging her with his toe. He snorted inwardly as he realized how awful he sounded.

The witch rolled her eyes, but she focused on Dean. Sure of her attention, Dean nodded and turned to Sam.

He let the gruffness fade as he said, "Remember the stories I used to tell you about King Arthur, Sammy?"

Sam looked puzzled but nodded. This wasn't how they were going to play this. What was Dean doing?

"And you remember what I said happened to Merlin? Arthur's magician."

Sam knew this script and dutifully recited, "You said Merlin was trapped by Nimue. She tricked him into a cave or a stone and bound him there for eternity."

Dean flashed him a smile. "That's right. Remember what else I said about Nimue?"

"You mean about her being one hot chick?" Sam asked sarcastically. He didn't like the dark edge to Dean's smile.

The witch snorted derisively, sounding almost like, "Humans."

"Hey, I'm talking here," Dean protested, glaring at the prisoner then turning back to Sam. "Anyway, Nimue was one of the first hunters. She made it her job to track down all witches and magic users. Usually, she'd just kill them, but then she found a better way."

Sam jumped in, taking up the narrative. "Nimue found a way to turn the witch's magic against them, binding them to whatever they took their power from. Merlin was bound to Britain, so he was trapped in stone."

"Now you, on the other hand," Dean said, "I'm betting you're going to caught in something a little less durable. An animal, maybe a cockroach like that one over there."

"What?" Screeched the witch. Her eyes were wide, caught halfway between fear and laughter as she looked for the insect or some hint of a bluff in Sam and Dean's faces.

_**29.**_

The witch's eyes rolled wildly from Dean to Sam and over the floor. There was no cockroach of course, but she didn't have to know that. Dean felt a hint of smugness that she actually believed the bluff. He was good.

"You've got your brother back," the witch finally said, a hint of pleading in her voice. "Why can't you let me go?"

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked to Dean. It was his call. Dean was shaking his head.

"No way. I'm not letting you go so you can traumatize another idiot," Dean said calmly.

Sam made a face at Dean — 'cause hello, scholarship to Stanford and oh yeah, Sam was his _brother_ — but he agreed. Dean had a certain logic that was easy to understand: protect family, namely Sam, then protect everyone else. Right now, both his principles were being challenged. There was no way this witch was going free.

"The way I see it, you've got two options." Dean held up a finger. "One, we work this little binding spell then let you go. Or two —" he held up a second finger — "we can just kill you."

Dean felt his stomach drop as he said the last words. He was supposed to save people, not kill them. Only the bad guys died, and they all looked bad, not like someone's aunt.

The witch was silent, obviously thinking. The sudden appearance of the silver tabby startled the hunters, their hands reaching for weapons automatically, but the witch seemed to draw comfort from his presence. The cat walked right up to her, brushing against her bound hands. Her fingers twitched, almost a caress. Then she looked up at Dean with bright eyes.

"I don't want to die," she said. Dean steeled himself against the almost sob that followed, and the slight whine to her voice that said she was fighting back tears. "Perform your little spell, hunter."

Dean nodded once, turned sharply on his heel, and marched back out into the hallway.

Sam watched the witch with troubled eyes for a long moment after his brother left. Her breathing was uneven, and she kept trying to pet the cat. The animal was showing remarkable intuition and offering his friend support, or he was oblivious and self-centered. After his sojourn as a feline, Sam was inclined to believe the cat was comforting the human he loved.

The thought made his throat tighten. Hurriedly, he jerked the hood back over the witch's head. She went limp immediately, and Sam made double sure the drawstring was tight. She'd gotten it off once and put him back in his body; she wouldn't get loose a second time to switch him round again. Satisfied with his handy work, Sam went in search of Dean.

His brother was standing at one of the front windows on the deserted first floor. Sam hadn't seen him looking so closed off since their dad died. He cleared his throat, banishing his discomfort and the lingering lump of emotion.

"So what're we going to do?"

Dean breathed in a long, shuddering sigh. His eyes were bright and unreadable when they turned on Sam.

"I'm going to work the spell," he answered flatly. "I don't want to kill her unless I have to."

Sam nodded. Killing was what they did, but their prey was always dead already or not human. They could justify it. But something changed in Dean after he used to the Colt to kill those demons. You could never be the same after you killed a human being.

"All right. We got everything," he asked simply.

Shaking his head roughly, Dean said, "Most of it. Just need something to bind her powers to."

"What about the cockroach?" Sam's voice was only slightly colored by sarcasm.

"I wasn't serious, Sam," Dean growled. "I'm not gonna turn her into some bug. We'll have to find something else."

Nodding, Sam thought about it. He remembered how happy the woman had looked when her cat came and sat by he side. It sparked an idea in him, but he hesitated. There were some details about his ordeal that he just didn't want to share with his brother, but a woman's life was at stake.

Swallowing his pride, Sam said, "I think I have an idea."

_**30.**_

Dean tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel as he craned his neck around to look up and down the street. The streets were still dark and quiet, like they had been since he last checked a minute ago. Dean hated being the lookout while Sam got to do the dangerous stuff, but his little brother had a good argument.

"_Dean, I know how to handle a cat. And if I'm caught, I won't be recognized," Sam had said._

Dean had huffed and argued, but Sam had a valid point and he knew it. So Sam won and broke into the house. Dean got the short straw and stayed with the car.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean muttered, the sound of his thumbs echoing his pounding heart. "It's just a cat. Get your ass back out here, man."

He checked his watch for the thousandth time. The hands had barely crept past eleven o'clock. Dean was very tempted to hold the device up to his ear to make sure the watch was still ticking, but he could barely make out the steady movement of the second hand in the yellow streetlights, so he knew his watch hadn't stopped.

When he looked back up, Dean saw Sam standing beneath a tree on the other side of the road. He was struggling with a bundle in his arms, and the quiet sound of his curses drifted through Dean's open window. The older brother smirked.

"You sure know how to handle a cat, Sam." He chuckled and started the engine.

Sam jogged across the street, threw open his door, and dropped into the passenger seat. His bundle was still struggling, and a constantly moving lump suggest a thrashing tail.

"Damn thing nearly tore me to bits," Sam complained as Dean turned onto a new street.

Dean laughed and glanced over at Sam. "I don't want to hear about it. I spent two days with your claws, dude. You were vicious."

"I was not," Sam complained. "I had no other way of communicating. It's not like I could tell you "Hey Dean, had enough now. You can stop, jerk.""

"Whatever, bitch." Dean tossed a smirk to his brother. "I think you just wanted to ruin the perfection."

Sam snorted disbelievingly and grumbled, "Yeah, right."

The rest of the drive was made in comfortable silence, broken only by irate yowls and growls from the bundle on Sam's lap. Sam cursed when his prisoner struggled, sinking claws into his legs and hands, and Dean bit his lip so he wouldn't smile. Dean had almost forgotten what is was like to have a human Sammy around, and he was maybe enjoying the renewed camaraderie a bit too much to admit to. Sam was his same old bitchy self, but Dean could live with that. Didn't think he could live without it, really.

They pulled up in front of the empty house again. Dean turned the Impala off, and they exchanged looks as the engine ticked away its heat. Sam's expression was measuring, no doubt wondering if Dean would really kill the witch. Dean just looked determined, maybe a bit scared. Naw, not at all scared. He didn't get scared.

"Let's do this," he said, reaching back over the seat for an equipment bag then getting out. Everything they needed for this spell was in that bag and Sam's arms.

Now they just had to hope it worked.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I used an online translator for the Welsh in the ritual here. The syntax is completely incorrect, I'm sure, and goodness knows if all the meanings are correct. I know it's not accurate, and I'm sorry, but it's the best I can do. If you know something I don't, please tell me!

_**X**_

_**31.**_

Dean led the way up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and he was first into the room where they'd left the witch. She was right where they'd left her, hood still secure, with the silver tabby curled up by her side. The peaceful scene made Dean feel ridiculous waving his shotgun around. But you could never be too careful.

They dropped their bags on the floor, Sam's starting to crawl away until they used Dean's bag to pin it in place. That cat was feisty, a perfect match. Then Dean was swooping down on the other cat, deftly avoiding his claws, and tossing him out the door. Claws immediately scrambled at wood, and the warped old thing opened. Dean cursed and shoved the cat back with his foot. This time, he found an old crate thing to brace the door with, keeping the door closed and the cat out.

Sam was crouched on the floor by the witch, checking her bonds. He nodded once then leaned over for the equipment bag. Pulling out a piece of children's sidewalk chalk, Sam glanced around. They need a fairly large, flat area, and the bare floorboards were ideal.

He began making the first lines of what would be a pentagram as Dean reached for his own equipment. Pentagrams were easy, standard in their business, and Sam worked quickly. By the time he was drawing a circle around the pentagram, Dean was following behind him, lighting candles at each of the five points.

Dean dragged the witch into the newly drawn symbol, making sure her heart and head were completely within the outermost circle. Bobby had stressed this, telling them repeatedly that the witch must be inside the symbol for the binding to work. Dean double checked his knots then slowly pulled the hood off the witch's head.

She blinked sleepily at him and looked around. Her gaze rested briefly on Sam as he carefully wrote _"Non dabis pythonissam vitae,"_* in block capitals around the circle. Her mouthed opened, but she didn't say anything. Then she looked around again.

"Where's Fergus?"

"Who?" Dean frowned, his mind instantly creating worst-case scenarios of them being discovered and arrested.

"Fergus, my boy. My cat," she explained shortly, voice growing stronger as the hood's effects wore off.

Sam stopped writing to nod in understanding. "He's outside, waiting for you."

"Oh." Her face fell and her eyes closed.

Sam pursed his lips and thought about saying more, but he could feel Dean looking at him. They had to keep up the tough act. Sighing, he picked up the sack with the cat in it. She was quiet now, probably tired herself out with all her escape attempts and growling. Dean covered his brother while Sam carefully slid the cat under the witch's arms, using her to hold the animal still.

The next part of the ritual was the most important if Bobby was reading the centuries old manuscript right. And he usually was. Sam chose a fresh piece of chalk and set it on the floor. It couldn't be out of contact with the surface he was drawing on or the circle would be broken and the binding ineffective. His breath came in almost nervous puffs as he half-scrambled, half-crawled around the small circle then looped widely around the witch and cat, enclosing them completely. Then he retraced his route with salt, quietly muttering the Lord's Prayer in Latin.

When he was finished, he looked at his handy work, checking it against the instructions Dean had hastily scribbled down on a scrap of paper. Pentagram in circle: check. Hokey quote from Exodus: check. Outer circle and salt: check. Looking up, Sam met Dean's eyes and nodded.

Sam crouched down near the captive woman's head and asked softly, "What's your name?"

"Why?" She spat. "So you can put it on my headstone?"

"No," Sam said gently, trying to be kind. "We need your name for the ritual."

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and Sam thought she wouldn't answer.

"Deirdre. My name is Deirdre," she said softly.

He nodded, repeating the name in his head, as he stood and faced his brother. Dean helpfully held out Dad's journal. Sam frowned at him.

"What? You're better at languages than me, Sam," Dean said, shrugging. "We don't wanna mess this up."

Sam snorted but took the book and flipped it open. "You're just afraid of the Welsh."

Dean's only answer was a nervous, shit-eating grin.

Sam blew out a huge, gusty breath as he reread all the carefully noted phonetics. They'd never come across anything Celtic before, and though he'd covered many things, John Winchester hadn't taught his sons Welsh. Thank God for Bobby and his library because Sam had no clue what he was saying. Or going to be saying. If he ever got the courage.

He took another deep breath and began. _"Ddewines Deirdre, Archeba 'th alluoedd bod ffinia, daliedig at a a 'n ddawnus 'th."_

Deirdre's body stiffened and the candles flared higher. The cat growled, sounding terrified. A sizzling sound started, remaining a quiet background noise to Sam's chanting.

"_I mewn dduw, enwa, ad andras afail ar 'th brinhau leiha, a i mewn pawb ffyrdd ddifanna."_ Sam looked up from his shaking paper to see the final outline of salt and chalk flare into flaming light. He flinched and Dean recoiled, holding up a hand to shield his eyes. _"Ad 'r alluoedd chan Briddo, Awyra, __Ddyfrha, Danio, a Hysbryd caethiwa 'th. Amen."_

A woman's scream rang out and morphed into a cat's yowl. Bright light blotted everything out as the candles flared. Then utter darkness descended.

_*****_ Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live Exodus 22:18

_**32.**_

For a long moment, the only sound was shaky breathing. A rustling started, and a second later, artificial light bloomed.

Dean swung the light around, first checking on his brother. Sam was still clutching his paper, blinking into the bright light aimed at his face. Dean nodded, and Sam nodded back. They simultaneously looked to the floor, Dean helpfully swinging the light.

The outermost circle was a charred black line on the floorboards. Instead of enclosing a woman and a sack, there was now a pile of cloth, twitching feebly at the center.

"Well?"

Dean turned the light back to look at Sam again. Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Dean tilted his head then stepped forward decisively. Something had clearly happened, and if it hadn't worked, they'd have to start again anyway.

He nudged at an empty pants leg with his toe. It looked like the person wearing the clothes had simply vanished, leaving their garments behind. Or it was the set of some creepy horror movie. There wasn't any sign of Deirdre.

There was a quiet click, and Dean knew Sam had drawn his gun and taken the safety off. He edged forward to the still moving center. His toe nudged again. An angry growl pierced the stillness.

Carefully, Dean leaned down and fished out the sack they'd used to hold the cat. It was writhing again, and the growls were interspersed with howls. A battering noise came from the door behind them. The silver tom seemed to be throwing himself against the door as he tried to open it.

"Just do it," Sam urged. "Get it over with."

Dean snorted 'cause Sam would only say that if he wasn't the who was gonna get mauled by a pissed off witch with claws. He loosened the sack's ties anyway, pulling the knot loose but keeping a tight grip on the neck. Then he quickly dropped the sack and jumped back.

A spitting ball of fur erupted the moment the sack touched the ground. A normally sleek black coat was standing on end as Deirdre threw herself toward the door. Risking life and limb, Dean stepped between the irate witch cat and the door and got it open for her. The silver tabby flew into the room, and the two felines met with a scene worthy of a romcom. Noses twitched constantly and tails entwined. Sam and Dean could only stand by and watch.

Eventually, Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, Deirdre, could we um, maybe talk to you a minute?"

The former witch seemed reluctant, but she didn't hesitate in batting away her familiar's attentions. When slitted green eyes were glaring at him, Sam decided he could continue.

"So obviously you're a cat now, and we can't just leave you wandering around on your own."

"That would be inhumane," Dean interjected helpfully.

Sam shot him a look that conveyed just how helpful his older brother was being. Dean shrugged, and Sam shook his head as he continued, "We — _I_ would like to offer you a ride back to your house. I noticed the cat flap in the door, and I'm guessing you have a good set up for uh, Fergus."

Dean chimed in again with a menacing, "Then we'll clean out your little work room and be on our merry way."

Sam pursed his lips but couldn't disagree. They didn't know exactly what a vunas witch could do, or what Deirdre had hidden away at her house.

For a long moment, Deirdre considered what they were saying then her head dipped in a regal nod. Sam let out a relieved breath and bent to begin gathering their gear.

_**33.**_

The ride back to Deirdre's house was quiet and tense. The cats were happy to curl up in the back seat, their purring loud enough to rival the Impala's. Dean drove in tight lipped silence. Sam was left to glance nervously between his brother, the witch and her familiar, and the road. The aches induced by the cat's - Ferugs' - possession of his body all settled into Sam during the drive, and he stifled a groan as he hauled himself out of the car.

They got inside easily; Dean hadn't wasted time locking the door behind them. Fergus raced ahead, obviously happy to be home, and Deirdre followed at a pace that was only slightly more dignified.

"Split up?" Dean suggested, glancing sideways at Sam. He saw how stiff Sam's movements were and vowed to kick that darn cat next time Dean saw him.

Sam's smirk said clearly that he was remembering the last time they'd separated, but Dean ignored him. Mostly so he didn't remember either.

"Sure," Sam replied. "I call downstairs."

"Meet ya in the middle," Dean called over his shoulder, already halfway up the steps.

The next several hours were spent pawing through piles of dusty garbage that Deirdre apparently used to cast her spells. Some things, like the pentagrams, herbs, and charms, were easy to identify, while others looked like harmless everyday items. Except for that Spidey sense of shivers that ran down Dean's spine and made him add the whatever it was to the growing heap of garbage bags. They'd burn it all later, and so what if they got a few ordinary objects in there? Not like Deirdre would miss a plate or a bowl in her current form.

Dean indiscriminately cleared out what Sam had identified as Deirdre's workroom and thoroughly searched the bedroom and Kitty Disneyland. Then he joined Sam to go through the basement. A few potions were hidden among jars of applesauce and other homemade preserves, and the half of the basement not taken up by shelves of food was floor to ceiling mass of neatly stacked boxes.

Sam glanced at Dean and raised his eyebrows. Dean's face twisted into a "Can't win 'em all," frown as he shrugged. They unanimously left the boxes alone. They'd call Bobby and Ellen, maybe a few of Dad's other east coast contacts, and have other hunters check in periodically. Deirdre wouldn't get up to anything.

Even so, Dean still gave Deirdre a stern talking to in front of the pile of bags they were confiscating. She looked thoroughly unimpressed and definitely pissed off, and Dean soon trailed off into silence.

They loaded the half dozen bulging garbage bags into the Impala, stuffing her until bags poured out of the open windows. Then they roared off into the night. Sam kept glancing in the mirrors, watching Deirdre and Fergus get smaller and smaller as they sat on the porch to see the Winchesters off.

Sam claimed the first shower when they finally got back to the motel. Dean had showered this morning; he could wait, and he probably hadn't been giving himself tongue baths. The thought made Sam shiver as he stepped under the steaming spray. Just in case, he brushed his teeth twice when he came out and opened a little bottle of mouthwash they kept for emergencies.

"'Bout time," Dean grumbled when he came out.

Sam ignored him as he climbed into bed. The last thing he heard was the shower spray starting up and Dean cursing at him because the water hadn't warmed up again.

_**34.**_

Dean got breakfast the next morning while Sam showered again. Dean didn't tease him, just left the bottle of pain killers on Sam's bed. Sam smiled as he dry swallowed two colorful little pills then lay back on the bed to let them do their work. He was flicking idly through the boring morning talk shows when Dean returned.

"What took you so long, man," Sam asked as he sat up, stomach grumbling with the change of position and the smell of bacon.

"There was a line! Everyone wants breakfast cooked for them on the weekend," Dean complained, pulling out the Styrofoam containers and plastic eating utensils.

Sam didn't say anything because he already had three strips of bacon stuffed in his mouth. For a moment, he almost missed his heightened sense of cat-taste. Bacon had been incredible, and it still tasted great, but it just wasn't the same.

They ate quickly then packed up, double checking each other before Dean returned the room key and payed the fine for loosing Sam's. Deirdre probably did something with it, but they hadn't thought to ask her last night. Luckily, Sam had found his wallet sitting on the kitchen counter, and he'd made sure all his fake credit cards and ID's were in there. They were on the road by ten, and Sam was bored and unhappy by 10:15.

Dean sensed his little brother's unease and decided to take pity on him. "Spill."

"What?" Sam was confused. He'd been minding his own business, lost in his thoughts as he stared at the always changing but still the same scenery of the highway.

"What was it like being a cat?" Dean asked. His face lit up as he asked, "Did you do it?"

Sam snorted and went back to looking out the window. "It was interesting. You would have liked how everything tasted."

"That good, huh? Mr. Eats Like a Friggin' Bird!" Dean teased. For a big guy, Sam didn't eat all that much, certainly not as much as Dean did.

"Yeah, that good. Everything was just . . . more. Except sight. I couldn't see for shit unless it was dark," Sam admitted.

"Cool," Dean said, nodding. Silence ruled for a moment, until Dean couldn't resist. "So did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Lick yourself."

Sam's snort could only be called disgusted, and Dean could just see his bitch face from the corner of his eye. "Dean, that's just gross."

"C'mon, Sammy! What guy doesn't wish he could lick himself! You could have, and you didn't. You are no longer male, Samantha." Dean looked over and watched Sam blush. "Don't think I've forgotten all the cuddling, man."

"It wasn't cuddling," protested Sam. "Cats like to sleep where it's warm. You were the most convenient, warm-blooded thing around."

"I'm a thing," Dean said flatly.

Sam nodded, hoping Dean believed the half-lie he was telling. "You were warm and you were there. So the cat-brain took over and made me sleep on you."

"Right. I won't tell anyone your secret."

"What secret?" Sam nearly shouted. He hated when Dean did this: twisted everything around and acted like a jerk. Dean was coming too close to the truth that Sam had enjoyed cu - spending time with his brother when they weren't fighting or hunting.

Dean smirked over at Sam then drawled, "You're too easy, Sammy. Really think you are a girl."

"Jerk." Sam settled back in his seat and crossed his arms. He wouldn't play Dean's little game. He didn't even look back at Dean when his brother muttered, "Bitch," under his breath, just stared resolutely out the window.

A hundred miles flew under their tires before Sam opened his mouth again. Then he thought better of it and clammed up. Dean watch him repeat it a few more times, growing more frustrated with every repeat performance.

"Why don't you call Ellen and Bobby, get the word out on witch-bitch," he asked, finally fed up with Sam's delaying tactics. Sam grumbled of course but made the calls.

The conversations were short and to the point. Meaning Sam was soon left to annoy the shit out of Dean by doing his "I want to talk but I'm not sure how to say it" routine. Sam finally broke when they were an hour and a half out of town.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

"Do you think we did the right thing? Binding Deirdre and all?" Sam bit his lip and watched his brother warily from across the car.

"Yeah, we did the right thing," Dean sighed. Sam noticed how white his knuckles were on the steering wheel.

"I think she'll be happier now, as a cat. I don't think she liked being human."

Dean grunted his assent and reached for the radio. The conversation now over, Sam went back to watching the unchanging landscape. Dean's non-comital sounds and obvious discomfort put a damper on Sam's good feeling about the case, but he honestly believed what he said. Deirdre would probably be happier now, and Sam knew they'd made a difference.

Another hundred miles passed. The radio kept the tension down, but Dean didn't feel like he could leave it. Smirking to himself, he reached over the back seat, fumbling for the bag he'd stashed down there somewhere. His nose crinkled as his questing hand found a rancid burger wrapper he'd apparently missed this morning. Then, burried beneath grease and wax paper, Dean found the crinkly shopping bag.

Keeping one eye on the road and the other watching Sam, Dean brought his treasure out, tossing it wildly at Sam, who was regarding him with a look that clearly said Dean was crazy and suicidal. A white container flew through the air and nearly beaned Sam before he got a hand up to deflect it. A puzzled frown crumpled his face as he turned the container around.

A very happy looking cat stared back up at him. If the picture and the word "Catnip" written in a balloon-style font didn't give it away, then the herbal smell would have. Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean.

Dean shrugged. "Promised I'd get ya some."

Sam let a small smile creep over his lips. Dean was an awesome brother, even if . . . "You're never gonna let me live it down."

"Nope."

He nodded, smile growing wider. Sam watched as Dean squinted out at the road, calmly guiding them to the next job. This was his life.

_**X**_

**Final Author's Note:** Wow, it's done. This is officially the longest fanfiction I've ever written and finished. I had a blast writing and am very proud of myself for finishing this even though I really struggled though the last few chapters. It probably wouldn't be done without Writingingscret kicking my butt a bit over on Sinful-Desire, so thanks again! I hope you've had fun reading and maybe following this. Thanks for reading!


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